The Taste Of Dreams
by Corn00
Summary: "It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams." The Freys and Boltons don't betray Robb Stark and march south towards King's Landing. In her golden chains, his sister Sansa must find a way to survive until her brother comes to liberate Westeros. But as a Lannister pawn, she gets thrown into a mariage she did not expect. - SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM -
1. Heartless

**Context of this story: Robb Stark never met Jeyne/Talisa and intends to keep his oath. Therefore the Freys never had any reason to take revenge and ally themselves with the Lannisters, in hope of having a Frey daughter crowned. The Boltons remained loyal as well.**  
 **Theon Greyjoy took Winterfell and "killed" the Stark boys. Ramsay Snow is never sent to retake Winterfell.**  
 **Renly Baratheon is dead and his brother Stannis died at the battle of the Blackwater.  
Margaery and Joffrey are bethroted and inted to wed after the war.  
You could place this somewhere in season 4. **

* * *

« … And Sansa Stark is set to be married to Jaime Lannister as soon as he comes back to Kingslanding. »

The tent went silent. They all stared at the King in the North. His facial expression revealed nothing. The lords watched Catelyn Stark. It was very clear she was about to break down.

"How certain is this?" asked Robb Stark.

"My spies don't lie, Your Grace. And Lord Karstark's spies confirm it. It's not a secret in King's Landing." said Roose Bolton quietly, afraid of Robb Stark's reaction.

The King in the North was silent, staring ahead.

Then suddenly, he rushed out of the tent as Catelyn Stark started to lose control.

Robb didn't walk. He didn't run either. Where would he go anyway?

 _How could he do that? Is that Tywin Lannister truly a heartless gold-shitting monster?_ Robb rushed back into the tent. He was furious. Although he barely noticed it, he could see it on the faces of the other lords.

"How does he intend to marry his son to my sister if his son is our captive?" he screamed.

The lords didn't answer, tried not to look at the young wolf in the eyes.

"How?"

Lord Raymond, young and brave, answered. "He probably has a plan, Your Grace. A plan we don't know just yet. But he's Tywin Lannister; he wouldn't even think about this if it won't work."

Robb took a step closer to Lord Raymond. "It won't work. I will stop this."

He took a quick look at his mother, who was crying softly, not even trying to hide her tears like a lady, before adding: "I want to know more about this. Quickly. Make it our top priority."

"Put it before Harrenhall matters? And Theon Greyjoy's? And before your sister Arya and your brothers…"

"Are they close to be found?"

"No."

"Then yes. Sansa is the only one we know for sure is alive. I won't let her slip into Lannister hands. She's our number one priority."

The lords nodded, and the King in the North got out of the tent as soon as he could. He couldn't bare to comfort his mother; she would blame him for this. Blame him for not returning the Kingslayer soon enough. He felt guilty enough already. And he was about to show his anger to the Kingslayer.

He entered the cage, surprising Jaime Lannister, followed by Grey Wind.

"Your Grace" said Jaime Lannister mockingly, "What a pleasure to see you here in my humble home."

"Shut up, Kingslayer," said Robb Stark furious.

Jaime Lannister was surprised. What could have angered the young wolf so much that he had to come here and threaten him with his huge direwolf?

"What do you want?" Jaime asked.

"I want your head. And your father's. And every single man's head that ever thought of hurting my sister."

"Your sister?" Jaime asked confused. "You found the little girl? Arya Stark?"

"Not her."

"Sansa?"

"Who else, Kingslayer?"

"I have no idea what you want from me. News? Well, let me think... Last time I was there, she… was in the hands of her loving husband-to-be."

"You."

"What?"

"Don't pretend, Kingslayer. Just…" Grey Wind approached him. "Tell me why you are engaged to my sister. Or my wolf will lose his temper, and so will I."

"Engaged? I have no idea what you're talking about. Sansa Stark is to be Joffrey's queen as soon as she bleeds."

"Or your wife. Stop lying, Kingslayer. Your father must have thought about this plan carefully. You know him. Tell me why…" Grey Wind showed his teeth. "And I may not have Grey Wind leave a scar on your pretty little Lannister face. Your sister wouldn't like that either, right? Think of her before you say something stupid."

Jaime Lannister had no idea what to do.

"You really think I know anything of this?! When I left, she was happily engaged to Joffrey!"

"You know your father. Explain to me…" He started to talk louder and angrier. "… why he would do that!"

He knew. Of course Robb knew. He just couldn't bare to say the words. To say what everyone knew.

Jaime stayed silent.

"You think that not saying anything is going to save your pretty face?! I hear enough words of Joffrey hurting my sister! Humiliating her, beating and stripping her in front of everyone! I'm not far from doing much worse to you! It's only what you deserve!" He meant it. It was very clear. And his wolf seemed to think the same way as he.

"If this is true…" started Jaime. "It's to secure the North should you fall."

Robb didn't seem to think that was enough. He wanted more words, so this would feel real.

"A Lannister son, born by your Stark sister, would rule the North."

Robb was furious. "That will NEVER happen!" The whole camp must have heard him. He noticed how the only noise was Grey Wind's heavy breathing.

"My sister would NEVER bear your children."

"How can she if I'm here sitting in my own shit?" The Kingslayer was back.

"Shut up. You wouldn't mind marrying her."

"She's just a child!"

"She won't be if you marry her."

"I don't want her."

"No, you want your incestuous sister."

Jaime ignored that remark. "She's just a girl."

"A pretty, young Stark girl. What more could anyone want?"

"Yes, she's pretty. And I'm sure she'll grow very beautiful. But I might be the only man in the Seven Kingdoms who wouldn't want her." He wanted Cersei.

"And you would dare to say no to your father if he told you to marry her?"

That was a smart comment. No-one dared to say no to his rich, Lannister father.

After a minute of silence, Robb started to calm down, but his fury didn't. "You will never marry my sister. I can assure you… Every single Northerner alive will make sure that doesn't happen."

"Oh, that's not hard to believe. The Northerners protect the Starks. They don't obey by fear, but by love. I've always admired that," said Jaime, trying to sooth Robb Stark with his words.

"Don't try to change the subject. We will send a raven to Kingslanding… Every scar left on her, will be doubled on you." He ment it. Clearly.

"I'm sure my nephew takes good care of her and everything you hear are just rumors."

"I'm sure your son is not the honorable kind of man. Everyone who has been in Kingslanding knows it. They pity her. But not one of them will stand up for her."

"They value their head more than their honor. In the end, everyone does."

Robb was silent. Jaime stared into his cold, blue, sad eyes. "Not everyone."

* * *

Sansa stared through the window. The moon was shining with all the pretty stars around it. She had always loved that sight, but she couldn't admire now.

Jaime Lannister. Really? Is that the best the Lannisters could do? Probably. It was clever, really. A Lannister heir to the Northern seat. It was so cunning it made her sick.

Robb wasn't like that. Robb was truthful, dutiful and honorable. Nothing like those Lannisters. Nothing like anyone in Kingslanding, really. He was like father.

But wouldn't father have come and save her by now? It had been over a year. Over a year since she had seen Winterfell, her family. Over a year since she had seen snow. Strangely enough, she missed it so badly. When she was there, the only thing she could think about was the South. She hated the snow and the cold winds. But now that she was in the poisonous South, the North seemed so peaceful and innocent. What if she never saw snow again? That made her heart race. She couldn't bare that, for sure. But strangely, she had the feeling she would see snow again, in time. After all, Winter is Coming. And she had survived so far.

* * *

"Robb…" They were in his private tent. His mother wanted comfort. She wanted her tall and strong son to hold her in her arms. To tell her everything was going to be okay. But he turned away. "Robb? My dear boy. Come hug me." Her voice trembelled.

He turned to her. She saw the guilt in his eyes, the pain. "Don't…"

"It's my fault. I should have traded the Kingslayer. I should have gone and save Sansa, I should have kissed Joffrey's feat just to get her out of there!"

"No, Robb. You're fighting for a cause. For the North." He knew she was just saying the things he wanted to hear. All she cared about was family, duty, honor. Family most of all. She would have traded every single Northerner if that would have got her her girls back. She blamed him. She blamed him for choosing the North over his family. Over Sansa.

"You're lying. You know I'm right. You blame me."

She couldn't find the strength to deny it.

"You think I don't love her. But I do, mother, I do. I love my sister. I love her dancing hair when she runs. I love her voice when she sings. I love her when she tells her tales of knights and maidens fair. I love her when she plays with Lady. I love her naivety, her idealism, her faith. I want to see her grow more and more beautiful every day. I want to see her turn into a mature woman, I want to be there for her to protect her against those Kingslanding men. I even want to see her naivety crushed; that's how badly I miss her. I want to see her grow stronger every day. I knew all along she was a Stark. Everyone thought she was a Tully: wrong. Sansa has always been a Stark. And I'm sure she will survive whatever winter that comes to her. Because she's a Stark, in her heart and soul."

"Robb…" She started to cry softly.

"But you know what I miss the most, mother?"

She closed her eyes, preparing for something to break her.

"Her laugh. Her giggly, innocent and light laugh. It sounds so good. Even to Arya, even though she'd deny it."

Catelyn cried. She cried and cried and cried for the only daughter left to her, that she was so scared she'd loose.

Robb held her. Not for long, but long enough to give her courage and strength.

"I'll get her back, mother. I promise. I will get my sister back."

* * *

Sansa sighed. She couldn't sleep. Her pillow was wet and sticky, but she ignored it. She had felt that so many times. She thought of her time in Winterfell. When she hugged Rickon. When she played with Bran. When she fought with Arya. When she laughed with Jon. When she listened to her father's stories and when her mother brushed her hair. And then she thought about Robb. She could barely believe it when he was named the King in the North. Robb? Robb, her brother, barely taller than her? She couldn't imagine how tall he'd be now. Just like father.

She remembered when he took her on his back and walked her around Winterfell. It seemed so silly to others, but so fun to them. They were little. But old enough for Robb to already feel protective. He had pushed her in the snow, and sat next to her. He had told her that until her tall and gentle and strong knight would come, he would be there. He would be there to protect her from the mean monsters. He had kissed her on her forehead. And she had smiled. But then, she had ran away because she had to pee badly.  
Sansa laughed. A lady wouldn't do that. But she had done it. And for once, she didn't care. Arya would be proud of her for that.

Sansa felt her brother's comfort, even though he was far away from her. But Robb had broken his promise. He hadn't been there for her to protect her from Joffrey, the Queen and ser Meryn and Illyn Payne. And, as hard as it was, Sansa realized she couldn't count on him anymore. She had to fight her own court battles, not counting on her brother to come and save her. She had to put up her Wall of Ice, so high no one could breach it. She had to be as brave as a Stark of Winterfell. Because she was lady Sansa, with a skin that had turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel. She would outlive them all.


	2. The arrangement

FLASHBACK

Sansa woke up to a startling sound. She looked through the windows, and saw that the sun had come up, but was still low. Someone was pounding on her door, so hard they might break the lock. She got up, only in her thin nightgown, quickly grabbed a pair of scissors that she hid behind her back and opened the door.  
"The little bird is awake," said the Hound.

"Ah!" she heard Joffrey say, and he came from the hallway and stood in front of her door.

"You have startled my lady, dog. Move."

Sandor Clegane moved out of his way. Joffrey grinned at her and let his eyes wander over her quite exposed body. Her hair was loose and messy and she was holding the scissors quite firmly behind her back. She felt the metal cutting into her palm.

"My lady, my grandfather has asked for you immediately, and I wanted to escort you." She knew he had just taken an opportunity to intimidate and scare her, and he didn't try to make his lie sound believable.

"How kind of you, your grace."

She waited for them to move and let her close the door and change. He just grinned at her and said: "Why don't you go change, my lady?" He was leaning against the door, making it impossible for her to close it. She didn't want to move, partly because she didn't want him to see her naked and partly because she didn't want him to see the scissors she was holding firmly behind her back.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Shae emerged behind Joffrey and looked alarmed. Sansa was relieved.

"I will help her get ready, your grace. If you would just wait outside for a while." She stepped in, he moved startled and she closed the door without waiting for an answer. Strangely, he didn't object. For some reason that made Sansa scared. Like he knew something worse was waiting for her.

Shae looked at her bleeding hand. "My lady! You shouldn't…" She immediately confiscated the pair of scissors and cleaned Sansa's hand. "What does he want?"

"I don't know." Sansa said. "He says lord Tywin is waiting for me."

Shae furrowed her brows. "That's not a good sign."

"I know."

Shae quickly dressed Sansa in a pale blue dress that matched her eyes. She brushed her hair and made her as presentable as possible in the little time they had.

The hound pounded on the door. Sansa knew that was her que to go. She stood, and right before Shae opened the door, she looked at her and said "Don't let them play you." Sansa barely had the time to let that process because Shae opened the door.

Sansa walked out and curtsied for Joffrey, who gave her a demon smile and held her arm as they walked to lord Tywin's chambers with The Hound trailing behind them.

"My lady, as you know, we are no longer betrothed. How sad that may make us both, there is no reason to waste a pretty lady's good years."

She didn't like the direction he was going.

"So," he proceeded, clearly enjoying keeping her in the dark, "it is time for you to marry someone else. My lord grandfather will share the joyful news when you arrive."

She started panicking. Who could he possibly want her to marry?

They arrived at the doors and the guards opened. Inside, she saw Tywin and Cersei. Cersei looked absolutely furious. When she saw Sansa, she looked like she could explode. "To that little whore?!"

Cersei burst out of the room past Sansa and Joffrey.

"Your grace, you can go now." said Tywin.

"No but-"

"I said now." He didn't even have to raise his voice. The calmness of his voice was terrifying. Joffrey left, much to his dismay. Before leaving, he tapped Sansa on the butt and whispered "Be a good wife."

Sansa was scared now. Did she have to marry Tywin? She was always told he'd never marry again after Joanna. Did war make him change his mind?

"Sit down, my lady."

She obeyed and looked at her hands. The wound was starting to bleed again and she was trying to cover it.

"As you know, your betrothal to king Joffrey has been annulled. Therefore, you must have a new husband."

She stayed silent and stared at him, waiting for a horrific revelation. Was she to marry the imp? Or a certain Lannister cousin?

"You will marry my son."

She felt tears wanting to escape from her eyes but she pushed them back. She, a Stark, would not cry in front of Tywin Lannister.

"As soon as he comes home, the wedding will take place."

"As soon as he comes home? I was not aware lord Tyrion was away, my lord."

He looked confused for a second, before shaking his head. "No. I will not waste the last Stark girl on Tyrion." He said his name with such disgust it seemed like he wasn't even his son. "No, you will marry Jaime."

She was panicking inside, but he didn't seem to notice. Jaime Lannister? He was of her father's age!

"Isn't ser Jaime a member of the King's Guard?"

"He will be excused from that to fulfill his duties as the Lannister heir."

"But… Isn't he… A prisoner?" she said the last word so silently he might not have heard her. He looked over at her with his prying eyes and looked slightly hurt.

"I can assure you my son is on his way home."

Would her mother and brother have released him? That could not be. They would never have accepted these terms.

Tywin rose from his chair and nodded towards the guards. They opened the doors.

"We can all expect him home in a few weeks. You can joyfully prepare your wedding with your ladies in waiting and the queen."

In a few weeks' time, she would be a Lannister. She would be wedded to her family's greatest enemy. She curtsied and turned to walk towards the open door. She felt one tear fall down her left cheek and thanked the gods no one could see but the guards, if they even were watching.

One guard escorted her back to her chambers. They walked in complete silence. It was only at her door he turned towards her and said "I'm truly sorry, lady Stark. You were supposed to be the queen. You do not deserve to be a prisoner."

She didn't answer. She was too startled. He quickly turned and walked away. She noticed that his armor was one of the Palace Guard, but he was wearing a sigil she hadn't seen before. She had never seen _him_ before. He had caramel hair and grey eyes that looked like silver. He was young and rather handsome, she was surprised she had never noticed him. The ladies liked to giggle and whisper about handsome guards, and she would certainly have heard of him if he had been here longer.

She closed the door and sunk to the floor right behind it. She didn't know if she wanted to cry or scream or sleep. Nothing would save her from this situation.


	3. The Gods' Wood

Sansa was walking through the palace halls towards the Godswood. It was the only place she could go where people wouldn't talk to her. She had two guards trailing behind her. She never spoke to them and they never even locked eyes with her. It was like they were ashamed of something. Sansa never had the same guards to ensure she didn't make allies. Not that she would notice now; she simply stopped caring.  
As Sansa walked she made sure she had a steady pace. She was not walking slowly, but she was not walking faster than a lady ever should. She was walking with a purpose, her purple dress flowing just above the floor and her long auburn hair bouncing just a little bit. She wore it the northern way. She was done pretending to be a southerner. It's not like they bought it anyway. She was Winterfell's daughter – traitor's blood. Still, she held her head high and did not pay attention to the people watching her and whispering about her. They always did. She wondered what they could still have to say. All she did was wait around, take an occasional beating or humiliation, until the Lannisters decided to leave her alone for a while. Maybe they pitied her. Maybe they envied her. Did it even matter? None of them were doing anything. She doubted she even had one true friend at court.

As she walked through the court halls, she occasionally nodded towards someone that smiled at her.

Suddenly, Cersei Lannister, followed by at least 8 guards, popped up in front of her. She looked at her with her crooked smile and eyes filled with so much hatred. _Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one's between your legs._

"Little dove."

Sansa immediately bowed her head and curtsied.

"Where are you going?" asked Cersei.

"To the God's Wood, your grace."

"Are you going to pray for Jaime's quick and safe return?"

Sansa knew no answer would satisfy Cersei. So she just went with the most obvious one.

"Of course, your gr-"

"Oh shut up, you little fool. First you love Joffrey with all your heart, now it's going to be Jaime?" Cersei spit out. The jealousy was obvious. "You little whore."

"I-"

"Leave." Cersei ordered. Sansa curtsied and quickly escaped. That woman gave her chills. The way she cut herself from loving anyone but a few family members just because _Love is weakness._ Sansa could never do that. She did learn from Cersei, but that one piece of advice is one she promised herself she would never follow. Love may be weakness, but Sansa was nothing without it.

As she approached the God's Wood there was no one left. The guards had trailed far behind her, talking, not really paying much attention to her. Not like she could possibly escape; the God's Wood was towering over a cliff. She decided to turn and turn again and leave the path to trail in between the trees, until she shook off the guards and was entirely alone, in a new spot she had never been to before. If she peaked through two trees she could see the sea. She was very shielded, the many leaves dimmed the sunlight. It was quite quiet here. She knew she'd like to stay here in the future, she was protected. Cut away from it all. And if she wanted, she could stare at the sea, and imagine herself climbing on board of a ship that would sail north.

"My lady." She heard a voice say, disrupting her thoughts. She abruptly turned around, to look into the silver eyes of the caramel-haired guard.

"Forgive me, I must've frightened you."

"No, you… What are you doing here?" she asked him.

He chuckled. "I could ask you the same question."

"It is considered rude to ignore a lady's question."

He chuckled. He seemed to be in a playful mood. "Well, I was praying a little further away, but then I heard you and I came to see who was here. Now you."

"You pray here?"

"Yes."

"To the old gods?"

"Now, I would pray in a sept if it was to the new gods, now wouldn't I?"

She stared at him. Few people held to the old faith in the south. Then he probably wasn't from the south.

"And what are you doing here all alone, my lady?"

"I lost my guards. They must be around here. But I prefer to pray alone, in peace."

"You weren't praying."

"This is a quiet and peaceful place. I like to just _be_ here."

He smiled gently. "I understand."

 _Someone brave and gentle and strong. Someone worthy of you._

Sansa heard noise a little further away, heard her name being spoken by one of her guards. Panic took over.

"We mustn't be seen together." She was starting to move away from him.

"What? Why?"

"You're a guard. I'm Lady Stark. We're alone in the woods. Joffrey could have our heads for this."

"Joffrey? I thought your engagement was broken?"

She looked him straight in the eyes. He looked confused. Was he new enough to not see what Joffrey really was? "The Lannisters. I'm theirs."

"Well, technically…"

She cut him off. "You know I'm betrothed to Jaime Lannister."

"But that's not public knowledge y-"

She cut him off, again. She heard the guards coming closer.

"Tell that to Joffrey when he feels like flinging multiple bolts at you." Sansa immediately turned and ran in the direction her guards' noise was coming from.

"I'm here!" She said. She was praying Silver hadn't followed her.

"My lady. You shouldn't trail off from the path." Said one of them.

"I apologize. I was just praying."

"We should go back to the palace. A messenger has come to say the Lady Margaery requests your presence for luncheon."

So Sansa walked ahead of them, quietly, towards the palace of her nightmares to eat with the woman who took her place.


	4. The tournament

Sansa was walking through the gardens towards the field where the tournament would be held. It was a tournament organized for Tywin Lannister's nameday, on a hot and sunny day. She was wearing a more revealing dress than usual, of soft green fabric that exposed her arms and the top of her chest. She wasn't used to that, but Margaery, who had gifted the dress, had assured her she looked beautiful.

She felt an arm being laced through her. "It is a beautiful day, isn't it, Sansa?" Margaery smiled at her and she smiled back, glad to see the woman who might very well be her only friend.

"Yes, it is! A little too hot for my taste, though," Sansa admitted.

"Yes, in Highgarden there is usually a light breeze that makes heat more bearable. But I'm sure that's nothing compared to the North!"

"No, it isn't… I haven't seen snow in such a long time." Sansa immediately regretted this confession. Even though Margaery was her friend, she knew she could trust no one. Any statement could be used against her.

"Well, I have never seen snow, if that makes you feel better!" Margaery laughed and Sansa was relieved. "The summer has been long. I hope it will keep on for a long time!"

Margaery knew better, but, like all of the nobles here, she pretended to ignore the very important fact. Sansa knew it. She had heard it over and over for years. _Winter is coming_.

"Maybe, one day, when I am queen, I could show you Highgarden and you could show me Winterfell! Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Those words stung. If their plan had worked, she would have married Loras and would be living in Highgarden. Her life would have been so much better. "Don't you mean Casterly Rock?" she said, more bitterly than she meant to.

Margaery squeezed her hand discreetly and looked over her shoulder. Her ladies and guards were too far away to hear them. "Even though your marriage is not ideal, I'm sure it would involve you moving back to and ruling Winterfell. That's the whole point of them marrying you off to ser Jaime."

"I'm not sure I even want to return to Winterfell if that would mean handing it over to Lannisters. The northerners would never forgive me…" Her confession turned to a whisper. She wasn't sure why she was confiding in Margaery, but she felt like she had nothing to lose. Nothing could possibly be worse at the moment. "And if Jaime were the lord of Casterly Rock and Winterfell, I doubt he'd choose to live in the North. I'd be doomed to living among Lannisters."

Margaery sighed and tapped Sansa's arm. "If it makes you feel better, I've heard beautiful things about Casterly Rock. And, when you will be a mother, one of your sons would have to rule the North. When he comes of age, you could accompany him North."

Sansa didn't respond. She had little hope for a good life.

"I wonder how they plan on freeing him, though." Margaery added.

"I hope he stays a prisoner forever."

"Hush, Sansa," said Margaery. She looked around and searched for faces who might be spying on them. "Don't say those things. You never know who might be listening."

They turned into another alley created by bushes. Margaery's ladies in waiting were following slightly behind them, gossiping and giggling.

"Have you heard princess Myrcella returned from Dorne for a visit?" Margaery asked to change the subject.

"Yes, I have. It has been such a long time since I have seen her."

"I look forward to meeting her. I'm curious to see what she's like."

"She's nothing like Cersei. She's a very nice girl."

Margaery urged her ladies in waiting to keep up with them. Sansa stared at the ground and wondered how deeply Margaery cared for them. How deeply she cared for her. Would she ever betray her?

Margaery stopped walking and Sansa looked up. She had almost bumped into a guard protecting the King. She had been dreaming and had not seen them coming.

"Apologies, my lady." said the guard. She recognized the voice and looked up into a set of silver-grey eyes. It was the silver-eyed guard that had escorted her back to her chambers a dozen of days earlier and met her in the God's Wood. Sansa tried not to let it show that she recognized him.

Margaery smiled and curtsied for Joffrey, and Sansa quickly followed.

"My two favourite ladies! You both look radiant." Sansa felt his eyes linger on her more-than-usually exposed body. Margaery was still much more exposed, but people were used to it from her.

How are you doing today?" said Joffrey. He seemed cheerful.

"Fantastic, your grace. It is a beautiful day for an exciting tournament!" answered Margaery. Sansa just silently stared ahead and prayed he wouldn't address her.

"You will be given the honour of sitting next to me, lady Margaery."  
Her face was composed and graceful as ever, but Sansa could see she was ecstatic. "Thank you, your grace."

He looked towards Sansa. "And you,… will be sitting a little further away."

"I understand, your grace."

"I didn't ask you to understand."

"I apologize, your grace."

"I don't want to be associated to traitors. You're no better than pigs." He said, spitting the words out. "You'll be sitting as far away from me as a highborn lady can be allowed to sit."

Sansa just silently stared back at him. Answering didn't do her any good. He took Margaery's arm and went in the opposite direction with the guards following them. Before he passed Sansa, he whispered "Well, maybe not _that_ far." He gave her a quick squeeze in the buttocks that no one noticed.

Sansa felt a shiver go down her spine as they walked past her. She locked eyes with the silver-eyed guard and quickly avoided his eyes before continuing her stroll towards the field, all alone.

* * *

"And now the next jousting duel! Ser Rodrick Genderly and ser Tobias Lance!" announced a man.  
The people applauded. Sansa did too. She usually liked tournaments, they were a welcome distraction, but she was too bothered by Joffrey's prying eyes. He was sitting far on her left, a little higher. Every time she looked over her shoulder, he stared at her with a malicious grin.

The two knights came towards the tribunes to bow for the king and give their favours to ladies. Sansa remembered the day Loras Tyrell gave her a flower, when she had just arrived in King's Landing. She had been giggling about it all week.

It was only when the knights bowed that she noticed one of them was the silver-eyed guard. He was looking right back at her and she thought she saw a hint of a smile. She quickly averted her eyes and tried to hide her blush. Ser Rodrick gave his favour to one of Margaery's ladies in waiting and she turned to her friends and they giggled together. A typical sight.

The silver-eyed guard, or ser Tobias Lance, quickly let his eyes wander over the crowd before guiding his horse in her direction. _Oh no._ She was praying he wouldn't give it to her. Joffrey would be furious. She wasn't officially betrothed to Jaime, few people knew, but she knew ser Tobias knew, for he had been present when she was told. _Doesn't he know it would be an insult to the Lannisters?_ The horse came closer and she looked away. She was hoping he wouldn't come to her if she wasn't looking at him. Her hands were clinging to her chair and she felt her heart pounding.

"Lady Sansa." said ser Tobias. He was only two meters away, holding a beautiful blue flower with a hint of purple. He reached it out to her. She felt every single pair of eyes staring at her in complete silence. Slowly, she stood up and stepped towards the railing. She held out her hand and accepted the flower in silence. Before going back to her seat, she curtsied and locked eyes with him. He was intensely looking into her eyes and smiled a little. She went back to her seat and tried to remain calm and composed.

The jousting began. Sansa was unable to keep her head in the game. The joyful mood had instantly ben ruined, everyone was whispering. Ser Tobias knocked ser Rodrick off his horse and a strange feeling of relief overcame Sansa. She wondered why. She didn't know him and he had put them both in danger with his stupid act. He was clearly new to court. Everybody in King's Landing knew that Sansa was Joffrey's favourite toy, and Joffrey's _only_. Surely, he was about to find out.

Ser Tobias had luckily not won the tournament. She was happy about that, because the winner got to choose the Queen of Love and Beauty and if he had picked her, they would both be in big trouble. He had been beaten by the mountain, ser Gregor Clegane.

* * *

During the banquet after the tournament, Sansa could not bring herself to eat. Not even lemon cakes. She was sitting next to Myrcella, much to Cersei's dismay, who had just returned from Dorne for a visit. She was still betrothed to Trystane Martell but the wedding had still not taken place.

"Dorne is so beautiful, Sansa! You should see it," she said. "It is horribly warm, though."

"I can only imagine," Sansa said.

"I have missed King's Landing. The Dornish wine is much too strong for me." She laughed and Sansa forced herself to join.

"Do you like your betrothed?" Sansa asked.

Myrcella's cheeks turned pink. "He is charming. But we don't spend much time together. He and I don't live in the same palace. I do hope we'll get married soon, though."

Sansa noticed Myrcella's skin had benefited from the sun. Her hair was brighter and so was her smile. In the year she had been away, she had grown older and more beautiful.

"I'm sure he would be thrilled, Myrcella."

They smiled and silently observed the people at the banquet.

"Sansa, do you know ser Tobias Lance?" Myrcella asked casually.

Sansa had to be very careful with her answers. She knew Myrcella was much too innocent to spy on her, but she was still a Lannister.

"He is awfully handsome." laughed Myrcella. "I've heard he recently arrived from the Vale. He apparently is a lowborn lord from the Stormlands, but he left for the Vale to become a knight."

 _SO that's why he doesn't despise me._ Sansa wondered what stories he had heard of her. They spoke differently about the Starks up north, certainly considering they had blood ties with the Vale and used to have a deep friendship with the Baratheons.

"No, I don't know him. We have never spoken." Sansa declared.

"Oh? Strange he gave you his favour, then."

"It happens. I had never spoken to ser Loras when he gave me his at the Hand's tourney two years ago." Sansa tried to make it sound casual and normal.

"That is true." Myrcella smiled. "I've heard from my brother that you are to become our aunt?"

Sansa forced herself to smile and nodded.

"Oh Sansa, we will finally be family!" Myrcella pinched her hand. "Even though you will technically be my aunt, you are more of my age. I've always wanted a sister like you!"

 _So have I._ But now, Sansa would give anything to see her true sister again. Wild and untamable Arya.

"My ladies." heard Sansa from behind. She turned her head to look into Joffrey's eyes. He was wearing very expensive clothes as usual, and was wearing his crown and a couple of rubies on his fingers. He tried very hard to look like a king.

"I hope you have had a good time in Dorne, Myrcella." His hands were clutching to Myrcella's chair while he was slightly leaning on it.

"I have, your grace."

Joffrey didn't seem slightly interested in his sister. He stared at Sansa and she could feel the hate he was feeling towards her radiating. "I've been wondering what to do to ser Tobias. But the gravity of his punishment will, of course, depend of what you two have been doing."

Sansa tried to remain composed. How could she protect ser Tobias without looking like she cared, even just a little, for him? "We haven't done anything, your grace. I don't know ser Tobias, we have never spoken."

Joffrey didn't seem to believe her. "May I remind you that you are betrothed to my uncle."

"I am very aware of that, your grace. The honour is…"

"Oh shut up, you stupid little whore." He sneered. He approached her face and was only inches away. She could smell the wine in his breath. "You are mine, Sansa. I'm the king and you're my loyal little slut, understood?"

"Yes, your grace." _When I will be Lady of Winterfell, no one will ever speak to me like that again._

"If my uncle doesn't return soon, don't worry, Sansa. One way or another, you'll have a Lannister in your bed."

Sansa felt eyes on them. People couldn't hear, but they could see the fear in her eyes and the hate and jealousy in his.

"And if I see you with that knight once more, I'll have him watch me fuck you before I cut his head off."

He abruptly left their table. Sansa could finally breathe again. She was shaking. She looked around and saw Tywin Lannister's disapproving look. He clearly didn't want Joffrey to make a scene. People would know what it's about, and punishing ser Tobias would only make it look like they did something. Cersei smirked and Margaery carefully gave her a little encouraging smile. Somewhere in the buzzing and whispering crowd, Sansa managed to lock eyes with ser Tobias. He looked worried and a little angry. She quickly looked away and prayed no one had seen.


	5. Stab 'em in the back

The sun was setting on a cloudy day. Robb had escaped the last council meeting to get some fresh air. He was a little further in the woods, were he was left alone at last. Sometimes, he forgot he was a king and not a boy. He was leading thousands of men into battle, many of them would face a certain death. But they all trusted him blindly. They had come this far. After their losses in numbers, the northerners had garrisoned in Riverrun and even managed to get half of the knights of the Vale. Their force was strong again, and certainly a match for King's Landing's. Robb and his council had been debating for weeks about going east or west. Casterly Rock or King's Landing. The long hours in that cramped tent made him feel like his head would explode. But when he heard Jaime Lannister had escaped, he knew he was heading towards King's Landing. He had to avoid Sansa's marriage to Jaime Lannister at all costs. No Lannister could ever rule the North.

When Robb thought about Winterfell, he could practically feel the knife in his back. The thought of Theon, his brother in all but blood, seizing his home and capturing his brothers made his stomach turn. How was it possible? He had trusted Theon blindly. He had been the only sibling close to him, his only brother in arms. Jon was miles away, fraternizing with other men, and Bran and Rickon were burned to ashes. Arya and Sansa were in King's Landing, at the mercy of the king and queen and great lord Tywin. _I should've seen this coming._ Jaime Lannister was all but an honorable man. He was probably one of the last men to deserve his sister. _A Lannister and a Stark._ How ironic.

Robb sighed. Through the leaves he could see the pink colour of the clouds. It looked beautiful, but he couldn't focus on it. There was no turning back now. He had cast the die. In eight days, he'd attack King's Landing. He could be dead in nine. Him and his nineteen thousand men.

Robb took a deep breath and went back to the council meeting. He had to stop storming out like that. It wasn't king-like.

As soon as the lords saw him, their eyes lit up.

"Are the 10 men sent ahead already?"

"Yes, mylord. They'll kill every lookout they see."

"Good. Tomorrow we will ride day and night to get closer to them than they think. And two days after that as well. Nothing is better than an unexpected attack."

"Your grace. I'm advising attack at nightfall, but lord Bolton advises attack at dawn." Said lord Glover. "We can't decide."

"In the night we can't see anything."

"Neither will the southerners."

"Attacking at dawn is very predictable."

"But we've always attacked at dawn."

Robb heard the lords swinging arguments and protest at each other. Again, everyone was talking. It made him want to storm out again.

"Shut your mouths!" he said.

All the lords stared and him and did what he commanded. Robb felt like apologizing for talking in such a manner to men twice his age, but he decided against it. He was king after all.

"When will they least expect it?"

Again, the men started debating. Robb just sighed and waited until someone would address him directly with an answer.

"Your grace, are you sure we shouldn't just lay siege on King's Landing and wait?" said the insecure and slightly cowardly Edmure Tully, his uncle that was absolutely terrible at warfare.

Robb's head popped up. Edmure tended to get on his nerves. "Don't you think I have considered the safest option, uncle? King's Landing has Blackwater Bay. A harbor. We could never cut out their food or water supplies. Laying siege on them would be signing our own death sentence. It is crucial we attack them full force. We get one chance, my lords. Only one. And the outcome will be _all_ or _nothing_. You are here to make sure the outcome leans towards _all_."

The men were silently staring ahead, avoiding Robb's eyes.

"This battle will define the future of the North. What do you think will happen if we lose? They'll execute each and every high born lord left. I'll be dead, and my only heir is Sansa. If she marries Jaime Lannister and bares his children, we lose the North to Lannisters. Do you understand? Gold-haired coin-shitting little monsters occupying the halls of Winterfell and dictating the lives of every single Northerner left."

"We won't let that happen, your grace!" said lord Ryder fiercely.

"Aye!" confirmed other men.

"The only other option is to win. No matter how bloody the fight gets, we must think of the North. Every dead northerner on the field is one step closer to Winterfell for the Lannisters."

"We should attack in the middle of the night, your grace. They'll expect it the least. Most of them will be sleeping, thinking that they need to get the rest they need before the battle at dawn. If we attack an hour or two, three before dawn, we'll sow chaos in King's Landing. Aye, it will be dark. But the light will come soon enough."

Robb was thinking about it. It seemed like a good enough plan. "Aye. That's the best." The men were nodding.

He was glad everyone had finally agreed on something.

"Now, the next matter. Who volunteers his men to enter the six secret passages into King's Landing? We'll need something like 15 men per entrance. One goes into the Sept, another in the catacombs of the palace, one in the wine cellars of the palace, one through the sewerage, another in the streets, and lastly one in the barracks." Robb placed pins on a map of the castle and the city that spies had drawn for them. "Some of them will be so out of use that even the palace guard won't know about them. Others will have guards at the doors. There's no telling which ones."

Despite the quite suicidal mission, lords offered their men quickly enough.

"This will be the first thing to happen. As soon as the panic has spread through the city, we attack at every single city gate." The men were mumbling and agreeing. They had been debating about an attack for weeks and every one had had their say in it. They were eager to hear the concrete plan.

"When we are sure all the soldiers are at the west side of King's Landing, our ships will enter the eastern harbor in complete silence, darkness and discretion. They can't see us coming unless it's too late."

"How many ships do we have, your grace?" asked lord Flint.

"Fourty. And I want 60 men on every ship." The ships had been gathered all around the north. They had managed to get some from the Vale and the Riverlands and even some stolen from lousy Ironborns. "This is our secret weapon. They have absolutely no idea we have ships. For them, we're dumb and honourable northerners. But I want you all to forget about your honour on the battlefield. They don't know we can fight dirty. So that's how we'll fight. We'll stab every southerner in the back if we have to."

"Aye!" The men cheered. They looked hyped up and very ready for the battle. Robb had thought they might've needed more to convince them to lay their honour aside.

"The men inside the city walls are to start fires only in strategic places. Enough smallfolk will die that night. Let's not target them any more than we need to. Women, children and old people are not to be harmed. Only the men who fight back can be cut down." Robb stated. Those were the rules and they were going to be followed.

"The men inside the city and palace are to open every single gate they can. The ultimate fight is in the palace. The women will be in hiding in a safe place underground. Some cowardly lords will be as well. If anyone sees my sisters Arya and Sansa inside, they need to be taken to safety. I don't know what sick games Joffrey might want to play if he feels like he's losing."

The men nodded in agreement. Robb felt like he had said everything he needed to. He was going to head out and try to enjoy a good night of sleep. He hadn't had one in weeks. But the men weren't going to let him go that easily.

"Are we to kill the highborn?"

"Should we burn supplies?"

"Can we poison some of our swords?"

"What are our exact numbers?"

"What should happen if you fall, your grace?"

"The Lannisters are to be put in chains and cells, the other highborn are not to be harmed. Supplies outside of the palace halls are to be left alone. Poison whatever you want to. We have 1200 archers, 6600 knights, and 11200 infantry. If I were to fall, the men need to keep fighting. There's still a chance for victory." The lords stared back at him, wide-eyed. The thought of them fighting without a king seemed to leave them speechless.

"But who'd rule then, your grace?"

"Jon."

With that said, Robb exited the loud and shocked tent. He saw his breath leaving his mouth. It was warmer where they were, but the nights were still cold enough. _Winter is coming._ One strong enough to take the South down as well. And their fury was coming with it.


	6. An announcement

"Why did you do that?" Sansa demanded.

Ser Tobias looked at her, confused. They were alone in the palace halls. She was in the west side of the palace, where few people went. She had seen ser Tobias wandering the halls, and had made it clear with her eyes that he had to follow her. This seemed like the safest place to talk.

"What do you mean?"

"My lady."

"What?"

"It is only right to address a lady with her title. I may be of traitor's blood, but my title is still mine." She spat it out bitterly, as if she was talking to a Lannister.

He looked kind of hurt by her outburst. But he had to learn she was not his friend. Familiarity could get them both killed.

"Aren't you a princess?"

If looks could kill, he'd be dead then and there for saying that.

"Now I would like you to tell me, ser Tobias, why you thought giving me your favour was a good idea."

"Why, do you think it was a bad idea, _my lady_?" He dragged that last one out a bit. She didn't know what to think of that.

"You couldn't have had a worse one."

"Huh… Well, I thought I'd just give my favour to the only lady I have truly talked to in this palace. I am a new guard after all, and haven't have time to get to know other ladies."

"I _highly_ doubt that."

He smirked a little. "Well, in that case, I was thinking to give my favour to the most beautiful woman in King's Landing." She rolled her eyes. Praises of her beauty didn't affect her anymore. It was the least original compliment a man could give her. And to her, it had been more of a curse than anything. _Don't think that way. You look like your lady mother._

"You should not call a traitor more beautiful than the queen or Lady Margaery."

"Why? Am I not allowed an opinion?"

"Not here. It is commonly known lady Margaery is the most beautiful woman in King's Landing. Or lady Cersei, whichever you prefer. "

"Lady Cersei is a vicious old woman. Aye, lady Margaery might be comely. But you know how the guards call you?"

"You offended the Lannisters at the tournament." She kind of wanted to know, but his big mouth could get them both into trouble.

"So?"

"You think this is a game? You're playing with our lives."

"Now, that's a little dramatic. I gave you a flower."

"I know what I'm talking about." The fact that he was so comfortable around her bugged her a little.

"I meant to offend the Lannisters."

She looked at him, confused. "What?"

He looked around him and leaned in closer. "The Lannisters are dogs and Joffrey is a hateful little bastard."

She felt her heart beat fast. "That statement makes you a traitor. Why would a traitor protect the king and his family?"

He smirked. "I have my reasons."

They stared at each other for a while, trying to figure each other out.

"I wonder what you look like when you laugh…" he mumbled, more to himself than anything.

She fixed her posture and raised her voice. "I'd keep my distance in the future, ser Tobias. If you're interested in keeping your head." She turned around and left.

"You know, you talk like a queen."

She didn't look back at him, it was too hard to suppress that little smile on her lips. He was way too dangerous; for he said everything she thought and pretended she didn't.

When she arrived in the more crowded palace halls, it was time she presented herself at in the throne room. The king was handling some matters and many noblemen and women were dutifully watching. When Joffrey saw Sansa enter, he completely ignored the peasant in front of him and waved her over. Excitement was all over his face and she was scared of what he could be wanting to say.

"Sansa! Come closer!"

She bowed down in front of him. "My king."

Lord Tywin was next to the king, whispering in his ear. It seemed like a disagreement. "Nonsense, uncle! Sansa has been longing for this, I am sure of it!" she heard him say.

He stood up and raised his voice. "Everyone! The king has an announcement to make!"

Everyone turned quiet and curious eyes were eyeing Sansa.

Joffrey walked down the stairs and motioned her to stand up. She gracefully took his hand.

"It pains me so, but as everyone knows, the lady Sansa is not my betrothed anymore. I am set to marry Lady Margaery Tyrell soon, a much better match for a king!"

Sansa was wondering where he was going with this, but she felt like she already knew.

"Well, I will no longer linger as I'm sure you're all dying to hear the news… The lady Sansa Stark is set to marry a Lannister after all!"

Whispers everywhere. "I am happy to announce my uncle Jaime is, indeed, out of the hands of the traitor northerners and on his way home. He is expected here shortly and they will wed soon after that!"

The whispers turned to hesitant claps. "Yes, let us celebrate!" screamed Joffrey, seemingly in a good mood. The people took that as a sign and everyone was clapping and faking an excited smile. So was Sansa. A modest but happy smile, but her heart was pounding in her chest. Jaime was coming home. How could he have escaped the northerners? What did this mean for Robb? His most valuable hostage was no longer in his possession.

Sansa noticed that Cersei had left the room somewhere during that announcement, and Margaery was busy whispering with her grandmother.

After the announcement and the dutiful felicitations, Sansa finally retreated to her rooms. She asked Shae for a bath to be drawn, but they were interrupted by a pound on the door. Shae opened the door.

"Sansa! How happy I am to find you here. I thought you were still celebrating with the ladies."

"I was, lady Margaery. But all the excitement tired me."

"I understand. I hope my quick visit isn't inconvenient." Margaery was beaming, as usual, with two guards behind her. She stepped inside and turned to her guards. "Wait outside." Shae closed the door and went to the bathroom to take care of the bath.

Margaery immediately approached Sansa and took her hands.

"Sansa, I must be quick. The Lannisters ordered me to not say anything, but I feel you should know. Your brother has won all the battles so far. He's taken many castles and his force has grown. An attack on King's Landing is expected in less than a fortnight. His army has grown, Sansa. This will end everything, no matter what the outcome is."

Sansa was breathing fast. She had no idea what to do with this information.

"Jaime will be here soon. I believe they have sent men to pick him up somewhere a day or two away. I don't know how he escaped, but he did. They will marry you two as soon as he arrives. Before Robb's arrival."

Sansa felt tears come up. She hated feeling like she had no power whatsoever.

"Is there no way to slow the process down?"

Margaery smiled hopefully, but Sansa couldn't help but notice it was forced. "Perhaps there is. My grandmother suggested you pretend to be ill when he arrives. They can't marry you when you're sick. It has to be a great, public wedding. But listen, Sansa. If Robb comes and win, we can expect him to execute all Lannisters. And perhaps the Tyrells as well."

"No. My brother wouldn't do that. He's too honorable."

Margaery seemed to be thinking. She knew she would be in a dangerous position as the queen to be and a Tyrell ally of the Lannisters.

"War changes men, Sansa. And women. He's not the boy you left in Winterfell. He's a king now."

Sansa knew he wouldn't have changed that much. Robb was Robb. A Stark.

Margaery continued. "We will have to be careful anyhow. But so will you. If you're lucky, Jaime dies in battle. Married or not, you'd be free from him."

Sansa liked that idea very much. "Margaery, you are my true friend. If Robb wins, I will make sure the Tyrells are not harmed."

Margaery smiled genuinely. "It is very important us women stick together."

"Us women should make the best of our circumstances, am I right?"

Margaery smiled at that takeover of what she had said to Sansa once. "I wish you all the luck in the world, Sansa. I hope you know that." She squeezed her hands.

With those words, she turned around and left to fend for herself.


	7. Gold doesn't suit you

Sansa was in a beautiful flowing deep burgundy dress. The Lannisters had 'gifted' it to her and made her wear it. Her hair was flowing down her back and she smelled of roses. She was wearing the golden necklace Joffrey had once given to her. She looked like a full-on Lannister. She hated it.

Sansa knew Jaime had discreetly arrived the day before. A guard was sent to her after luncheon to escort her to him. She was nervous. She didn't want to be, but she couldn't deny it. She was determined to do everything in her power to make him not want to marry, but had no idea how.

With one guard leading the way and the other one behind her, she walked her way to her future husband. While she passed a group of lords and ladies she recognized but never talked to, she overheard something that caught her attention.

"I've heard the young wolf will lay siege on King's Landing in a week or so."

"How would you know?"

"I overheard two of the king's closest guard talk about it. That Meryn Trant and some other."

"They'll marry that wolf bitch to the Kingslayer soon enough, then."

She guessed they hadn't recognized her, because of her unusual attire, and when one woman's eyes fell on Sansa's, they widened and she started shushing the others who all turned their head Sansa's way. Sansa looked ahead, pretending not to have heard. _Robb was coming. He was finally coming._

Soon enough they arrived in the fancier hallways, and stopped in front of a door. When the guard knocked and said her name, she heard a sigh and a "come in".

 _Great_. He was dreading it as much as she was.

The door opened and she stepped in. He was sitting on a chair at a table, with a glass of wine in his hand. His only hand. She tried not to stare at it. _He lost his right hand?_ His hair was longer than before, with a few silver streaks in it, and he had a beard. He had probably had his first bath in days, but he looked incredibly tired. A year had passed, at least. But he looked like he had been away for 10.

For a while she just stood there, awkwardly, her blue eyes clashing with his green ones before she remembered to curtsy. As soon as she dropped down, she regretted her mannered reflexes. _I will not be his obedient wife._

"Lady Sansa." He said. "Would you care to sit down?"

"I'd rather stand."

He looked at her with slight disbelief. _If it pleases my lord,_ had been her automatic answer for as long as she could remember. He probably expected her to still be a silly and loyal girl.

"Very well. I assume you know my father has arranged our marriage to happen within-"

She didn't want to hear him speak of the near future, so she cut him off defiantly. "Robb is coming soon."

"What?" He asked. He looked very confused.

"Is it true? My brother's almost here."

She could tell from his avoiding eyes that she was right.

"In that case, I will not bow down to a Lannister."

"My sister could have your head for saying that."

"Oh, but she won't." The Lannisters needed her too much to kill her now. Before they could even consider it, she had to give Jaime Lannister a son or two.

"You are going to be a Lannister too."

She had to swallow a disgusting taste she had in her mouth. The thought of it made her want to hurl. _Father would be so disappointed._

"Even if your brother comes, doesn't mean he will win."

"Not if. When."

He swallowed down the wine in his mouth slowly, looking at her intently, trying to figure her out.

She didn't look away. "Winter is coming. The Starks will endure whatever comes with it."

He sighed and put his goblet down, before leaning back into his chair. "The odds aren't exactly in his favour."

"Are they in yours?"

He didn't answer and looked away.

"I'll take my chances." Sansa said.

Jaime looked at her with a blank expression, stood up and walked to the door. She followed. His guard opened it.

"I'll see you tomorrow down the aisle."

Her eyes widened, but before she could turn towards him and demand why, the door was closed.

 _Tomorrow?_ Gods, how she hated them. If only Robb could kill them already.

After a couple of minutes walking back to her chambers trying to ignore the whispers and walking tall, she was relieved to finally have some alone time to think things through. Only, when she arrived and the guard opened the door, she saw a couple of maids in her room surrounded by various dresses and busy talking. When the door closed behind her back, she noticed Margaery and Cersei sitting in chairs at her table, drinking wine and faking chatter. They saw her enter, and Margaery stood up, slightly relieved to see her, beaming and approaching her.

"There you are, finally! I feel like we've been waiting forever. You look beautiful today, Sansa. Now, come on, we have much to do and so little time!"

"What- what…" Sansa was being pushed towards the center of the room, maids already helping her out of her dress.

"Yes, let's get this over with." Cersei took a big gulp from her wine and looked at her with pure disgust.

Margaery tried her best to cheer Sansa up. Sansa could see in Margaery's eyes that things weren't exactly going according to plan, with her fast wedding, but she coped with it.

"I- I feel faint today." Sansa tried, but Margaery gave her an alarming look and a pitiful shake. What did that mean? _Too late?_ Couldn't she fake illness, like Margaery had told her to do?

"Oh, I'm sure it's just the nerves. The wedding will be glorious! They are cooking non-stop in the kitchens, and they are readying the sept. The king would like to go on a hunting trip the day after tomorrow, so he insisted on the wedding being tomorrow. This gives us little time to prepare, but the weather tomorrow will be perfect."

Not that it mattered. The whole thing would happen inside anyway.

"So, the seamstresses have been preparing the dress for days, and now is the time to try it, isn't it? They have put so much time in it. I'm very curious!" She ushered the maids to put Sansa in a big, flowing lightly silver dress that shone in the light. It took much time.

"They had little time, Sansa, but I do hope you'll love it."

After a while of fastening the corset and pulling the straps, Sansa was allowed to look in the mirror. Before she reached it, she saw Margaery gasp a little and Cersei pull up her nose. When her figure appeared in the mirror, she held her breath for a while.

The dress' colour was perfect for her. It made her skin glow, her eyes shine and her hair shimmer. Her lips stood out as cherry pink and she wasn't even made up yet. She had flowing loose sleeves of a very thin and light fabric with embroidered flowers on them in ivory. The embroidered flowers went all the way down the dress. The neckline was round and a little lower than usual, it showed the top of her breasts. The dress was rather tight till her waist, showing her figure perfectly. It flowed down from there. She knew she would look breathtaking dancing, swirling with the dress flowing after her. In the arms of her husband. At that thought, her face dropped.

She wondered if he'd ask her to dance. She wondered if she'd accept.

On the hemline of her dress, if she looked closely, she could see a wolf embroidered, intertwined with a lion. She had to gulp down a disgusting taste in her mouth.

"Oh, Sansa, you look so breathtaking!" Margaery said with complete admiration. Her mouth was open, staring down at Sansa's dress. "And I thought it might look a little hasty."

"Yes, indeed, little bird, you look decent enough." Said Cersei, faking a smile. Sansa looked into her eyes and faked a grateful smile as well.

"All the eyes will be on you tomorrow. You'll draw every pair of them onto you! Oh, Sansa, I hope the gods will grant me to look half as beautiful as you on my wedding day."

"Oh, Margaery, you will look radiant, don't be silly!" She reached for Margaery's hand, and she felt a little encouraging squeeze. As a response, she squeezed slightly harder and way longer than she intended to. Sansa hoped no one had noticed their brief exchange.

The maids were pinning pins to her dress here and there for the last arrangements before carefully helping her out of the dress.

"Now, we must of course think of the bedding ceremony." Said Cersei suddenly.  
A blush rose to Sansa's cheeks and Margaery awkwardly shuffled on her feet. The tension could've been easily cut with a knife. "Three shifts have been made to wear beneath your corset. All three are for you, but we will have to choose one for tomorrow night."

Sansa felt a tension in her belly. She didn't want to think about that. She didn't want it to ever happen. She had always imagined her wedding to be one of her dreams to a man worthy of her, to a man who would spare her the shame of the bedding, like her father had spared her mother. She certainly knew Jaime wouldn't die for her honour, much less spare her the couple of torturing minutes of the bedding ceremony.

Suddenly she was pulled out of her thoughts when the maids removed her corset. She was embarrassed at the idea of her standing there naked in front of Cersei and Margaery, but it wasn't like she had a mother to attend to her. There she stood, in nothing but a thin shift. She knew everyone could make out her silhouette under it.

"Take it off." Cersei commanded. She refilled her cup of wine.

The maids lifted the shift and Sansa lifted her arms reluctantly. She knew her cheeks must've been redder than hair. Cersei ignored her obvious discomfort and took a good look at Sansa who tried her best to hide her nakedness without it being too obvious.

"Put the golden one on first."

The maidens dressed her in a golden shimmering shift, with a low neckline, that barely covered her butt. Sansa saw a glimpse of herself in the mirror and knew her nipples were visible. How transparent was this?

"Beautiful! But there's something off about this one…" said Margaery, looking pensive.

Cersei took a quick look before shaking her head. "Not that one. Gold doesn't seem to suit you."

 _Why'd you marry me to a Lannister then?_

The shift came off quickly and another came in its place. This one was black and quite short as well. The neckline was a very low V and the dress was overall very transparent.

"This one makes her look very… mature." said Margaery.

"Yes, maybe that's not the best idea. She _is_ a virgin, after all." Cersei nodded and the maids took this one off. The next one was ivory and stopped mid-thigh. Lace covered her breasts, and this one was slightly less transparent than the others. Only her figure was visible.

"This one." Said Sansa, before the others could express their opinions.

Margaery smiled. "Yes, marvelous!"

Cersei sighed and got up. "Very well then." She approached Sansa and took a good look at the shift. Her hand touched the fabric. "Yes, he'll like that…" she said so softly Sansa barely heard it. Cersei abruptly turned away and out of the room. Like that, she was gone.

As soon as the door had closed, Margaery ordered the maids to leave the room. The two girls were alone when Margaery reached out for Sansa's hands. "Sansa. Be strong. Be brave."

"But- I could pretend to be ill, or- I could-" said Sansa in a week and feeble attempt to slow it all down.

"Sansa, there's no use. Joffrey has set his mind on the date and Tywin wants it to be as soon as possible as well. Even if you truly had a fever, it wouldn't surprise me should they drag you down the aisle."

Sansa swallowed hard and her vision was getting blurry. "I don't want to be a Lannister." It was only a mere whisper.

"Oh, Sansa…" Margaery squeezed her hands. "You'll always be a Stark."

Sansa straightened herself and blocked the tears that were threatening to fall down.

"Your brother will attack in five days' time. That's why you have to get married now. They'll probably lock you in Jaime's chambers. They want him to put a Lannister in your belly now, in case they lose. They assume your brother wouldn't hurt his nephew or niece, even if it is a Lannister."

Sansa looked away. She knew it was true. If she did turn out to be pregnant and Robb won, Robb would be furious. He'd probably kill Jaime with his bare hands. _Good._ But he'd never hurt an innocent baby. _Then I'll drink Moon Tea in order to kill the last Lannister before he even gets born._

"Sansa, you mustn't let him touch you."

"What?" What was Margaery saying now? If Jaime married her, it was his right to claim her maidenhead. Even if she refused, he could easily force himself on her. She didn't have that kind of strength.

"Fight him. As long as you can, as hard as you can. The lesser times he gets to bed you, the least likely you'll get pregnant. A Lannister will take your most prized possession: your honour. You don't want him to take your future as well."

With those words, Margaery exited the room. Sansa threw herself on her bed, with nothing but the comfort of her tears.


	8. Tastes like vanilla

She woke up to the startling sound of leaves rustling very hard. Her eyes opened in shock and she stayed very still, trying to identify the sound. As soon as she heard the wind again, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in. She wanted to go back to sleep, before deciding against it. If she fell asleep, the next day would come much faster than if she stayed awake. And after all, she'd probably need hours to fall back asleep only to be awaken by another bad dream.

She got out of bed and tied a robe loosely around her waist. Her body was full of stress and she needed to calm down. The confinement of the room was maddening. She felt like going to the God's Wood, closing her eyes and listening to the sound of the sea. She knew it would be unwise, but she just had to get out of that room.

She sneaked out very carefully, hoping only too late that they hadn't posted a guard at her door. As soon as the door was open, a pair of grey eyes stared into hers. She almost screamed, but ser Tobias gave her a sheepish grin.

"Can't sleep, my lady?"

She needed a couple of seconds to steady her breathing. "What are you doing here?"

"You truly thought they wouldn't have someone guard your door?"

"I- I just didn't expect _you_. The Lannisters accepted this?"

He laughed quietly and shrugged. "You think the Lannisters truly concern themselves with matters of guards and rounds?"

She stared at him in silence for a while, still half inside her room. His steady eyes calmed her. She noticed a little stubble on his jaw and felt a sudden urge to feel it.

"Where were you going, anyway?"

Her cheeks reddened and she felt caught, even though she knew he couldn't read her mind.

"I just wanted to get some air. That room is turning me crazy."

"I can tell you need to calm down."

Sansa didn't know if that was supposed to be offending, but she decided to let it go.

"Would you like me to escort you to gardens or to the God's Wood, my lady?"

"I want to hear the sea." She declared, and he offered her his arm, knowing what she meant. Even though she knew it was inappropriate for a lady to touch a guard, she took it. No one was going to see them this late anyways. Suddenly, she felt a flush of wind reach her dress and she realized how underdressed she was to be out in public. All she had on her was a slightly transparent nightshift and a thin robe covering her body. Looking down to her feet while they were walking, she realized her feet were bare.

"Nervous for tomorrow?"

She didn't want to talk about it. "Tomorrow will be the last day I wake up as a Stark."

"The Starkness won't magically disappear from your blood, though." She looked up at him, but he stared ahead.

"Where are you from?" She knew the basics, but she wanted to know what made him Tobias.

"My father is a lord from the Stormlands. We're not a very famous house." He was right at that. House Lance was a name she hadn't heard before.

"And your mother?"

"My mother was a northern merchant's daughter. One day, on their trade routes, he offered my mother to my father, whom he saw as a noble lord. My mother was quite beautiful, and my father didn't hesitate a second. He was a young fool at the time, and his family was furious at him for marrying such a lowborn girl. But nevertheless, he became lord soon enough, and she became lady."

"And she taught you the faith of the old gods."

"Indeed, she did."

"What did she look like?" Sansa wondered who had given him his good looks.

He smiled, like he enjoyed remembering her. "She was beautiful. She had long and thick brown hair she usually wore in a braid, a heart-shaped face and chestnut eyes. She died giving birth to my little sister 6 years ago."

"I'm sorry." Sansa said truthfully.

"Don't be. She loved her life. And she was quite tired of her 3 sons, she was dying to have a daughter." He laughed at his own choice of words and Sansa couldn't help but chuckle too.

"And which one are you?"

"I'm the third son. The oldest is dutifully managing our modest keep with my father and the second one is somewhere in Essos. He left when mother died, and we know little of him now. He married some local girl and he made himself a rich man. I believe he's in Pentos, or maybe it was Lys, or Volantis? No idea. I doubt I'll ever see him again."

"And tell me about you."

For the first time ever, she saw some crimson in his cheeks. "There's really nothing to tell about me."

"Oh, come on." She laughed. "Everyone has a story."

"I- eh- I stayed a while after mother's death. Father remarried soon enough. Loneliness doesn't suit him. I couldn't stand the new wife and she wanted to get rid of me. So they sent me to squire for a knight of the Vale. I didn't really mind. There, people acknowledged me. I did well in the Vale. But then Robert Arryn died, Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. And I just thought; why not go down south where all the action is clearly at? In truth, I was just a bored knight wanting to prove himself. I didn't have much better to do."

They approached the God's Wood. It looked peaceful at night, with the moon shining down on it.

"I occasionally guard the Tyrells, and sometimes the Lannisters. I'm not really sworn to anyone. I could leave whenever I want."

"Then why don't you?"

He looked at her.

"You don't realize how lucky you are for having a choice."

He sighed. They continued in silence through the god's wood for a while until they reached the lookout for the sea. She let go of his arm and walked as close to the border of the dike as she could. She stared right at the water and breathed the smell of the sea in. If she could only hop on a boat and go north. She closed her eyes.

"I don't want to." he suddenly said.

"What?" Her eyes popped open.

"I don't want to go."

"This place is hell. You should go home. To your family. See your father, brother and sister again."

"There's nothing there for me. My life isn't as purposeful or interesting as yours, Sansa."

"You should consider yourself lucky. I wish my life was that simple."

Silence took over. She cleared her head and closed her eyes again. Wishing for anything but what she was going through. _If only I could have been born a peasant's daughter._

"I don't want to leave you."

She opened her eyes again and just looked at him. _What have you done, Sansa? You'll be his downfall._ "War is coming to King's Landing."

"I'd never forgive myself."

"You do realize you'll have to fight for the Lannisters?"

"And you'll have to marry one."

At those words, she felt a sting in her heart. "The Kingslayer."

"At least it's not the Imp."

She looked at him, angry. "Does it even matter which one it is? They both carry the same name. My _children_ will carry that _bloody_ name as soon as he crawls on top of me."

His face flinched at what she said.

"I won't let him touch you." He whispered through clenched teeth.

She sighed silently. "Yes, you will." _They all will._

He shook his head in denial.

"By this time tomorrow I'll be lying in Jaime Lannister's bed." she spit out.

He looked at her, hurt. _What is his problem? He shouldn't be so attached._

"At least it's not Joffrey." she said. That was a terrible attempt at apologizing for getting him upset. But he just stared ahead towards the sea.

"I could bribe a fisherman to take us away."

She laughed weakly. "I'm quite recognizable."

"I could take you home." was his feeble attempt. He sounded like he didn't believe what he was saying.

"My home was burnt down by someone I almost considered my brother and proceeded to kill my other two brothers." Sansa knew she sounded bitter. "And the one coming could very well be killed soon. Joffrey will enjoy presenting his head to me." _Only Jon would remain._ "If that battle ends badly, no hope is left for me."

"Maybe they'd let you live in peace on Casterly Rock."

She smiled hopelessly. "I'd rather throw myself from the highest tower in King's Landing."

Again, they both stared in silence towards the sea. Sansa was starting to get chilly. The wind felt like it had come from the north. After a while, she turned her head towards his, still looking towards the sea. She observed his profile. His strong jawline with the gentle stubble, his straight nose, his playful caramel locks, his silver eyes, shining in the moon light, and his plump lips.

 _Tomorrow Jaime Lannister will kiss my lips._ The thought made her want to hurl. His rough mouth was nothing she wanted close to her. Who knew where it had been?

Tobias turned his head towards her as well. Their faces were only inches away. She heard his steady breath and saw his eyes wander over her face too.

"Don't leave me." she whispered. She didn't know what came to her. Sounding desperate was the last thing she wanted to do.

His eyes searched hers. "I won't."

Those words were all she needed to convince her. She closed her eyes and lifted her dirty heels from the ground. Her hand rested on his armour and the other reached for the stubble she had been wondering about. At her gestures, she felt his arm slip around her waist and his other found his way to her hair. She wondered what he tasted like when he finally brought his lips to hers.

 _Vanilla. He tastes like vanilla._


	9. The Kingslayer's bride

**Hello everyone!  
** **First of all I'd like to say how happy I am that people are actually reading my story. I've always imagined an alternative where Robb doesn't betray the Freys and wondered how that would go. I'd also like to apologize for any possible grammar mistakes, because English is not my native language.** **If you could be so kind to review my story and tell me what you think, that would be so helpful to me! I'd love to know if you have remarks, questions, tips and ideas for me! Everything is welcome.** **I hope you enjoy (reading about) the day Sansa's been dreading for a while now - her wedding day.**

* * *

Standing behind the enormous doors of the Sept, Sansa could hear and feel her heart beat in her throat. She was trying very hard to stay calm and composed, but she could see her hand shaking. The doors would open any minute now. She'd have to walk slowly but steadily down the stairs without tripping towards her future husband. She'd have to lay her hand on his and repeat the words of the High Septon. As a girl, Sansa would've been so proud to marry a Lannister in the Sept of King's Landing, with all the lords and ladies in attendance, as the High Septon would say their vows. _But this was not the Lannister I ever even dreamt of marrying._

It wasn't cold at all but she felt a shiver go down her spine. She didn't even know how long she was going to have to stand there. And then she was actually going to have to _walk_ there. Should she smile? Should she run away? Should she just stare at the floor like her guts told her to?

 _You are the blood of the first men. The daughter of Winterfell. A Stark of the North. Act like it._

The guards opened the great wooden doors. The Sept was lit with candles and all the lords and ladies that mattered were there, in a circle, with a passageway for her. She couldn't focus on the beauty of the scene, because all she could think about was the rest of her life.

After a while of staring into the distance her vision was getting blurry. She realized she had been standing there at least 10 good seconds, if not more. People were starting to shuffle and whisper, staring at her. She blinked and tried to focus on what waited for her. _My dear husband._ He was beautifully dressed and she noticed they had put something gold in the place of his right hand. _How befitting._

When Sansa saw some of the guards started to whisper and heard a guard behind her cough, she stepped down the stairs slowly. One foot ahead of the other. She was concentrating on the walk as if it was the hardest thing she'd ever done. In her dreams, her father would've escorted her towards her husband, one he would've picked out for her. But there she was, walking all alone down the aisle towards the people she hated most.

Her head was held high, her mouth closed and her stare was blank, as if her eyes weren't truly present. Her face must've looked like a statue's. Again, her vision got blurry. _Don't cry. Be brave. Be proud. Be defiant._ She knew a bride was expected to smile, but despite her best efforts she felt a single tear fall down her left cheek in silence. _Everyone can see you cry on your wedding day._ Her vision sharpened and she met Jaime Lannister's eyes. Was it shame? Regret? Pity? She was unable to read his expression. But she could very well make out Joffrey's as she passed him. He looked as pleased as ever with a malicious grin on his cruel face.

She stopped in front of the stairs that went up, where her husband to be was waiting. He seemed patient enough, but the High Septon looked keen to get it over with. So she slowly walked up the stairs, careful not to walk on her beautiful dress. It was all the dignity left to her.

Sansa felt in trance during the ceremony. She couldn't focus on anything the High Septon was saying. She saw it all pass in front of her eyes, as if it wasn't her own wedding. At some point, he took her grey maiden's cloak off and replaced it with a deep velvet one. Then she had to put her hand on his. At her touch, his hand shivered. She didn't know if his hand was warm or hers cold, but the difference in temperature was shocking. A ribbon was tying their hands together and she heard the words they both had to repeat.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days." She said in a shaky voice. She noticed his was unsteady as well, but stronger, and more determined.

Then came the moment she had dreaded the night before.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." Jaime lowered his head but she made no move to raise hers. When she saw his face approaching, she closed her eyes. _I don't want to see it._ Soon enough, she felt his lips on hers and the brief peck only reminded her of the night before. Yet Jaime didn't taste like vanilla. He had no taste whatsoever.  
Suddenly they were both facing the crowd and being applauded by the audience. She couldn't help but let her eyes wander over the guards, to see if Tobias was there. Had he seen it? _Let it go._ If her mother had known she had kissed another man the night before her wedding, she would've been terribly disappointed. But then again, her mother would've never made a Lannister match for her. _I'm the bloody Kingslayer's bride._

* * *

The sixty-six courses of the feast had been unable to incite her appetite. Or her husband's. Jaime was sitting next to her, staring at his cup of wine. The music was loud and the laughing was overwhelming. How could everyone be so happy at a wedding where the couple was practically drowning in sorrow?

Sansa had drunk too much and she knew it. But not scarcely as much as Jaime. He reached out to his cup, but with his right hand. He knocked the cup over and the wine spilled on the table. As a reflex, Sansa stood before the wine could ruin her dress.

"Sorry, sorry, Sansa,…" he said. His voice didn't seem like his. For a while, he stared at his golden hand before bursting into maniacal laughter. "How ridiculous." he chuckled. The thought of him reaching out to his cup with a hand he couldn't move seemed to make him almost cheerful. "No amount of gold can bring my real hand back, _aye_?" He looked up at her and laughed again. His _aye_ had sounded like a mocking northern _aye_.

"If you'll excuse me." Sansa said, offended. She walked away from the scene. She couldn't stand it any longer.

"Of course, _wife_!" said Jaime while he motioned a maid to refill his cup and clean the mess he had made.

Sansa had nowhere in particular to go. She didn't want to talk to anyone and pretend to be happy. But before she could regret her decision to stand up, she saw Tyrion Lannister approach her.

"My lady." he said. "I'd congratulate you, but I doubt it'll do any good."

She just stared back at him. She had no more energy to smile.

"You see, Sansa, I must apologize for my brother's behavior. He normally doesn't drink this much. This wedding is probably as overwhelming to him as it is to you."

"I sincerely doubt it." Her voice was dry and resentful. But she just felt empty.

Tyrion smiled apologetically. "You must think my brother is still the arrogantly selfish Lannister Kingslayer. I must admit that, to others, he wasn't particularly nice before. But captivity has changed him. He's not the same man he was when he left. That might seem unlikely to you, but… try. You might find yourself happy in a few years. I can promise you that he'll never hurt you."

"You think bearing Lannisters will make me _happy_? There's only two ways this can end, my lord. Either my brother wins and this marriage is annulled, or my life will be a miserable shadow of what I thought it'd be." _Or I grant the Stranger my company._

Tyrion seemed surprised at her frank words and quickly looked around, checking if someone could've hurt. "I would advise you to not express your sincere feelings to anyone else, my lady. It might be unsafe for you. Maybe you should try to see the bright side, consider yourself lucky. At least it wasn't me!" he chuckled awkwardly, trying to cheer her up.

 _Why do I even trust the Imp?_ "I thank you for your concern, my lord." Sansa curtsied and left. She saw Cersei eyeing her and she tried to walk in a different direction, but it was too late. Cersei had seen her already. She motioned Myrcella to follow her and approached Sansa.

"Oh, there you are, little dove. What are you doing? Fleeing from your husband already? My dear, if you think this is bad, just wait for the bedding."

Sansa's face flinched but she couldn't bring herself to react. _I'm sure my wedding night will be the happiest night of my life, your grace,_ she was supposed to say, but the words just stuck in her throat.

"And the _actual_ marriage. Oh, yes. What a drag that will be! I'm glad I don't have to do that all over again." Cersei smiled viciously. "But it isn't all that bad, is it, little dove? You'll finally have Lannister children of your own! Makes us wonder what they'll look like… Like you? Or more like your father? Or maybe just like us."

Sansa imagined a little girl, running around palace halls, looking just like Cersei. She tried a crooked smile but the queen saw right through it. She enjoyed it.

"Ser Jaime-"

Cersei cut her off. "It's _lord_ now. He's been released of his holy vow to wed and bed you! How romantic isn't it? I bet you can't wait to see your future children."

At Sansa's expression, the queen laughed cruelly. "Don't worry, dear,… If you close your eyes for two seconds you could imagine they're Joffrey's. Like you've always wanted."

"I will be honored to carry lord Jaime's children, your grace." Sansa said. _Just like you did not so long ago._ It took all she had not to spit in her face.

"And carry them you will." Cersei said, probably more bitterly than she planned. She nodded and walked away, leaving Sansa to Myrcella. The princess smiled, looking lovely as always.

"Congratulations, Sansa! I do hope this beautiful wedding makes you happy."

Sansa forced herself to smile. Myrcella was not to blame for any of it.

"You look enchanting, Sansa, truly! The men in here are having a hard time keeping their eyes off of you." Myrcella laughed.

Sansa looked around. She did notice more eyes on her than usual. But then again, it was her wedding.

"I've never seen such a dress. It looks like moonlight itself! You truly _shine_ , Sansa." Myrcella chuckled, waiting for her to respond.

"Yes, it is a pretty dress…" she said, absentmindedly.

"I hope I'll look just as radiant as you on my wedding day! Trystane would fall in love with me instantly, looking like that."

Sansa was glad she could change the subject and took Myrcella's arm whilst they walked around, evading the busy crowd.

"When will you return to Dorne? Do you miss it?"

Myrcella blushed. "It starts to feel like home. I actually can't wait to return! But mother wants me to stay a while longer… I have to be present at Joffrey's wedding, you see. And then I will return and my wedding will be planned in Sunspear."

"It must be glorious there…"

"It is! Oh, you should see it Sansa! I'll invite you to my wedding! You and uncle will come together, you'll love it." Myrcella quickly seemed to regret mentioning Jaime. She coughed awkwardly.

"I doubt I'll be able to come." _I'd probably be locked in a room until I give birth to a son._ "But that's fine, the heat is not really my thing." Sansa smiled halfheartedly.

As they walked back to the feast, Sansa noticed Jaime being talked to by his father. Tywin didn't seem pleased with him. As she approached her seat again, the powerful man nodded towards her and tapped Jaime on the shoulder before leaving.

"Ah, _wife_. There you are! I thought I'd lost you already. Not very convenient timing, right before the bedding!"

Sansa juts sat down and took a sip of her wine.

"It's great wine. Very wise of you to drink. My father however does not appreciate the wine flowing at this table." He said mockingly, while picking up his cup. "I think he'd understand if he'd only taste the wine. It really is _amazing_ wine. Don't think I've ever tasted better wine. This wine is exquisite! Even the Dornish can't compete with this tasteful wine." He mumbled off, admiring the wine. "Don't you agree, _wife_?"

"I couldn't agree more, lord Jaime."

" _Lord_?" Jaime asked, more to himself than anything. He looked confused for a while before he exhaled "Ah! Yes, that's true! I'm the heir to Casterly Rock now!". He laughed bitterly. "Just like father always wanted."

Sansa just stared ahead, and her eyes locked with Margaery's. The future queen gave her an encouraging nod with a firm look. No trace of a smile on her face. Sansa knew what that meant. _Don't let him touch you._

"My lady, I have been ordered to dance with you."

Sansa turned her head towards her husband, surprised. "I didn't know a Lannister took any kind of order."

For just a second, she knew she had hit his pride, but then he just chuckled. "My father cannot be disobeyed. You'll learn that soon enough, now that you're a Lannister." He stood and asked for her hand.

"May I have the honor of dancing with my beautiful wife?"

 _Does he think this is a joke? "_ I don't think so." she said coldly.

He stood there, looking at her pensively before lowering his head and sighing. He approached her ear and she felt a chill go down her spine as she smelled his alcoholic breath. "It's dancing or bedding, Sansa. I doubt you're keen on retiring to the bedchambers already."

His eyes seemed honest and sincere and for a moment he didn't look drunk, but serious. She was in no rush for the bedding, so she stood and took his hand that was all sweaty and sticky from the wine.

They walked to the center of the hall where other lords and ladies were dancing, and he stumbled. She wondered if he'd be able to dance in his condition, but he gracefully recovered and slid his right arm around her waist before taking her left hand .

Sansa knew he was a good dancer, and she knew she was as well, and they just swayed on the music, not even looking in each other's eyes, in complete silence. They knew the steps perfectly and looked way better together than they felt. _This is miserable._ After a while, she noticed people were looking at them, admiring the sight of the elegant couple dancing. But they all knew better than that. A Lannister and a Stark could never be a happy couple.


	10. A dreaded bedding

**Hey guys,  
** **sorry for the late update but I needed time to figure out exactly where I was going. I hope this bedding lives up to your expectations! I'm eager to hear your thoughts! Happy reading...**

* * *

"Time for the bedding!"

Sansa didn't have to move her face upwards and look into his eyes to know it was Joffrey eagerly screaming the proposal he had surely been thinking of all evening.

The people clapped and laughed. Sansa couldn't help but panic, and turned her head towards her husband to see how he'd react. Jaime had been drinking wine, but had frozen in his action. His green eyes coldly stared at Joffrey without even raising his head from his cup.

"My dear uncle must be eager to see my beautiful aunt as naked as the day she was born!" Joffrey laughed, and the noblemen followed. The mood was set. "Honestly, who wouldn't be?"

Sansa couldn't move, she was grabbing the arms of her chair and her jaw was tight. She knew this part would come, but it was harder than she expected.

"I doubt even the holiest septon could resist the sight of our dear Sansa's breasts!"  
Again, everyone laughed.

"In fact, I would offer a thousand gold coins to any man who could!"

Sansa looked at their faces. The giant woman she had heard Jaime call Brienne looked shocked. Margaery didn't flinch. Her brother Loras was uncomfortably shifting in his seat as his grandmother sniffed. Myrcella was blushing. Tywin seemed carefully watching Joffrey and Tyrion was eyeing his brother nervously. Tommen seemed half asleep. And Cersei looked both pleased and bitterly disgusted at the same time.

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Come on, men, pick her up and carry her to her husband's bed! Only the lucky ones will get a peek or a feel along the way!"

Joffrey smiled cruelly at her and walked towards her. As everyone was enthusiastically cheering and getting out of their chairs, Joffrey looked straight at her and said "What a pity the First Night was abolished! I would've enjoyed the custom. Would you like me to restore it, Sansa? Don't you have tons of devotion to show me?".

Sansa stared coldly back at him.

"You wouldn't?" Joffrey asked, feigning shock.

"Your grace." Jaime grumbled.

The people had stopped cheering and were looking at the scene threatening to unfold.

Joffrey ignored the audience, looked annoyed and turned to his uncle. _His father._ "Forgive me, uncle. I hate to take your bride's attention from you. But don't worry, you'll have enough of it soon enough! You don't _already_ want to selfishly keep her all to yourself, do you?"

"She's _my_ wife." Jaime grumbled again. Sansa didn't know why he had said that. He couldn't surely care enough to actually already be possessive of her or want to protect her from Joffrey?

"And you'd keep her from your king?" Joffrey's tone was threatening.

Jaime stared right back at him, rising to the silent challenge and the tension was unbearable. Sansa could see Joffrey boiling and opening his mouth when she abruptly stood.

The moment was over. Everyone was looking at her. But she hadn't thought it through this far.

"I-" she started when someone cut her off.

"Do you promise not to scream too loudly, Sansa? Everyone knows how a wolf can howl." she heard Tyrion say loudly, and people started laughing.

Her cheeks were reddening, but as the lords and ladies turned to Tyrion to laugh she mouthed "Thank you." and he swiftly nodded back at her.

"Well, do as your king says! Pick them up!" screamed Joffrey, back in the mood.

Men quickly attended to Sansa and giggly women ran towards Jaime. Everyone was cheering and Sansa felt lost as she felt multiple hands pick her up from the floor and raised her in the air, carrying her to their bedchamber, slightly behind Jaime being dragged there by the women.

"Make old Ned proud, would ya?"

"I heard the Kingslayer has quite a sword down there!"

"Have you ever learned to yield a sword, girl?"

As the vile and humiliating suggestions reached her ears, Sansa felt her eyes getting wet and hands go up her skirt. She didn't know which men had joined. She didn't want to know.

"Maybe you should try to do it like wolfs! You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Or like lions!"

"They do it similarly, don't they?"

"How would I know? Who the fuck has ever seen a lion?"

The men laughed and some cold hands were throwing off her shoes as others were untying her gown. She knew it was complicated and hoped it would take time. A hand slid up her leg and squeezed her upper thigh. Another hand was groping her buttocks over the skirt and yet another was messing up her hair.

"I'm sure you'll make him happier than whores ever could!"

"Even without any experience he'll stiffen up in seconds!"

"Sorry your mother's not around to assist you!"

Sansa couldn't bear to hear them talk about her family so disrespectfully.

"Why don't you dance a little for him?"

"I'm sure your wolf brother will be proud of his dear little sister!"

"Isn't it so unfair the bloody Kingslayer gets to fuck this rare pearl?"

"It's now or never, boys!"

More hands started touching her all over, and one man was so tall his hand reached her breast and squeezed. She let her tears flow free but didn't make a sound.

"If only my wife had breasts as soft and ripe as hers!"

"My wife's tits hang low like earrings!"

"I bet this one's cunt is as tight and warm as the Maiden's would be!"

"Hey, lady!" did one man say when he shook her a little. "You still alive up there?"

"I don't think the pretty Lannister likes them dead!"

Suddenly, her dress ripped and she let out a gasp. The men cheered. They let the beautiful gown, all torn and ruined, fall on the floor and continued their way to the bedchamber. All she could do now was pray it wasn't too far. She only had her transparent shift left and some thin smallclothes. When one man's hand creeped up her leg to pull her slips down, she begged them all to stop.

"Here we are! In the lion's den!"

Some men made disappointed sounds as they dutifully let her down. Sansa hit the cold floor with her bare feet and was glad there were still some clothes left on her body. If her dress hadn't been as complicated, she would've been completely naked.

She didn't want to turn around and face them for she had no desire to see the faces of the men who had groped her. But she felt a hand squeezing her butt cheek one last time and felt his drunken breath as Joffrey whispered in her ear "Now go spread your legs, little bird!".

They opened the doors, pushed her in, closed the door again and there she was, standing in Jaime Lannister's bedchamber like she had the day before. Only this time, they were married.

Jaime was standing next to the table and poured two goblets of wine. He was lucky enough to still have his breeches on. His chest was bare. She could see some hair and a couple of scars, but nothing too obvious. He seemed built and strong, even if he had thinned in captivity. If she had married him two years before, she might've liked the sight of him, disregarding his age.

He raised his head and looked at her. His eyes went over her body and she felt a sudden chill go down her spine and covered herself. She knew he could see the shape of her through her ivory shift.

"You cold?" he asked her.

She actually was, but she didn't say anything.

"Here." He said, raising his cup. "Drink."

A part of her wanted to drink the wine so badly, but another part felt the need to disobey. So Sansa just stood there, barely inside the room. Suddenly, she jumped up as she heard pounding on the door and men screaming suggestions through the door, laughing. She took a couple of steps forward to get away from the door and approached the table.

He looked at her studiously. "You've grown." he stated.

She doubted he was talking about her height. "The Starks are tall." she said while she raised her head proudly.

He sniffed and smiled a little. "Indeed, they are. Your wolfs grow fast as well."

"Did you see Grey Wind?" Sansa had let her curiosity get the best of herself and she silently cursed herself for it.

He nodded. "Big beast. I hear he chews heads off just as easily as he'd eat a rat."

"Wolves don't waste their time chasing rats."

For a moment, he looked shocked before he chuckled bitterly. "A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of sheep." he muttered barely above his breath before laughing again.

"What?" she asked, bothered and confused.

"You're not much different, are you?" he said, more to himself than anything.

"How did you escape?" she asked, with a more demanding tone.

He stopped drinking and put his goblet down. His tone changed to evasive. "We should do our duty." He turned away from her and walked towards the massive bed.

"I asked you a question."

He sighed. "Don't make it harder than it needs to be. Get on the bed, Sansa."

"No."

He was standing next to the bed and froze in his actions. He clearly hadn't expected her to resist this badly and wasn't looking forward to forcing himself on her. "Don't make me hurt you." he pleaded.

"No. I won't let you touch me." Sansa was determined, staring ahead at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He sighed again and sat down, resting his face in his hands. He suddenly looked much older and extremely tired.

 _He doesn't understand,_ she suddenly realized.

"I may be older, Sansa, but you are no match to my strength. Don't make me." Jaime's tone was more of a warning nature than of a threatening one. He looked at her, with a face that almost begged. "We need to get this over with."

"We don't. _I_ don't."

Again, he looked at her pensively. He looked like he was waging a war in his head. He was on both sides. Both were losing.

"I won't risk carrying a Lannister with my brother this close. I won't do it." Sansa's voice was clear and loud, yet shaky.

Jaime took a moment to process her confession and carefully thought his answer through. "Even if he were to win, what could possibly happen? He won't dishonor you for this marriage, Sansa. Your brother's an honorable man and loves you dearly."

"How could you possibly know?" Her voice was breaking and barely louder than a whisper. _Don't cry now. It will make you weak._

"The only reason why this could be a danger to him would be if he died."

The thought of her brother dying seemed realistic, now more than ever. He was on the verge of either winning or losing. Living or dying. But Sansa had to cling on the last shred of hope she had left. _Robb hasn't come this far without winning every battle he's ever fought. He'll take King's Landing. I am sure of it._

"I want an annulment."

"You won't get one if we win."

" _If_ you win." she repeated. _I'll throw myself off the balcony if I have to. I'll never give up the key to the North._

Again, he sighed and buried his face in his hands. She could see his resistance wasn't as strong as it was before. _Convince him._

Sansa approached the bed and kneeled down in front of him. She took his hand and held it in hers. He raised his head and looked at her.

"Please don't make me disappoint them."

"I too have a family to please." he said, weakly.

"I have so much to lose." she whispered.

He looked away from her and she panicked. "I'll ask Robb for clemency. If he wins and you still live through the battle, I'll stand for your life. You'll be sent to live off your days at the Wall instead of dying a traitor."

He freed his hand from hers. "Your brother will kill me on the spot when he finds out we're married."

"No. I'll stop him."

"Robb's a king, not a boy."

"And I'm his sister."

Jaime and Sansa's eyes clashed. _Surely he must know the power of a sister._ He stood and walked back towards the table.

"If I agree to this, you have to promise me something." He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Anything."

"If we win, you'll perform your duty immediately."

Sansa gulped down a disgusting taste and she knew what he meant. She'd have to give up her maidenhead. Her voice was shaking when she agreed.

"However, if we lose, you let me die."

She didn't ask any questions. He just looked at her and she looked back. And they both knew they had reached an agreement.

* * *

As Sansa was lying still with her eyes closed pretending to sleep, she could make out a faint whisper from Jaime who was lying next to her.

"My last chance for honour."


	11. Fear

On her very first day as a married woman, Sansa woke up to the sound of Jaime grumbling "Fuck!".

She turned around and saw him sitting up on his bedside, messy hair and all, bleeding from the finger with a bloody dagger in his lap.

He looked at her. "I didn't mean to wake you. But it's harder to do with just one hand."

"What are you doing?" she asked confused and suspiciously.

He traced his finger on the sheets. "There's your maidenhead." Jaime then put his finger in his mouth to stop the bleeding and stood. He went over to the table and took an apple from the fruit bowl. He wiped the dagger clean, sat down and put his feet up on the table whilst taking a bite from the green apple. He looked like he was trying too hard not to care.

Sansa didn't know what to do with herself. After all, it was _his_ room and _his_ bed. Should she get up? She had absolutely no clothes to cover herself. But then again, she couldn't stay in bed forever. The awkwardness was practically palpable.

"Uhm, do you maybe have something for me to wear?" she asked with reddened cheeks. She knew he had seen her in her quite transparent shift the night before, but it had been less awkward.

Jaime stood up and took a tunic from a closet and tossed it to her. "I'll send a maid to fetch your clothes later."

Sansa sat up in the bed and pulled the tunic over her shift. It was only slightly longer, but at least it wasn't transparent. "Shouldn't I go back to my bedchambers from now on?"

Jaime laughed. "If you want everyone to think you're still a maiden."

"But-"

"Rumours go round quickly here, Sansa, surely you should know that."

She took a moment to let it sink in. _Of course I have to stay. If I don't, people will ask questions._

Suddenly they heard a knock on the door and two maids, one blonde and the other brunette, entered the room. The brunette had considerately brought Sansa a dress to wear, but it was a deep burgundy one she had never seen before. The brunette then put down a tray with food and drew a bath while the blonde took care of the sheets. Sansa saw the curious look on the girl's face and when she saw the bloody stains her eyes widened and she suppressed a malicious smile. _Word will spread through the palace quickly,_ Sansa realized and a strange feeling of relief came over her.

"My lord, the bath is drawn, in case either one of you would like to bathe this morning." said the brunette maid.

Jaime looked at Sansa, but she turned down the offer. "I prefer to bathe in the evenings." _I just want to get out of here as soon as possible._ He shrugged, went to the bathroom and closed the door.

"We'll help you dress, lady Lannister." said the blonde maid and they both approached her. The words stung.

"Where did you get that dress from?" Sansa asked.

"It is a gift from your new father. He considers you a member of the family and thinks it appropriate for you to dress accordingly."

 _Of course he does. If they can't put me in chains, they'll have me dress like them. Marking their territory._ Sansa turned around while the girls took the tunic and nightshift off and put her in a new, regular shift. They laced up her corset and then her dress. Sansa noticed the dress was beautiful and it bugged her to like a typical Lannister display of wealth and property. The maids then gave her a bowl of water to wash her hands and face and brushed her hair.

"Southern style, my lady?"

"No." Sansa said resolutely. She looked Lannister enough already and had no desire to sit there for an hour. "Just the simple Northern style, please."

The blonde maid was hesitantly shifting on her feet. "But, my lady-"

Sansa cut her off. "Do as I say."

The maids, surely spies of Cersei's, didn't say another word. Sansa missed Shae's company and realized she'd have a hard time keeping her as her handmaiden as Jaime Lannister's wife now. The maids tucked locks away from Sansa's face and braided them. They handed Sansa a mirror and she nodded satisfied before standing up. She was eager to leave the room but she wondered if she had to ask, or at least tell Jaime. She decided against it and left the bedchambers. At the door, two guards were posted. One saw her leave and followed her.

Sansa had no idea where to go. Her room was probably being emptied and she was in need of company so she decided to find Margaery to tell her what had happened the night before. She ignored the looks on people's faces that were undoubtedly curious about her newly wedded life and approached the crowded throne room where she'd eventually have to present herself.

"Sansa!"

Sansa turned around and saw Margaery with a few ladies in waiting, smiling and leaving them behind to come talk to Sansa. She immediately took her arm and ordered the two guards following them to leave them. Neither Margaery nor Sansa talked until they reached a quiet place in the palace halls.

"Tell me everything." Margaery whispered.

"He didn't."

Margaery looked confused. "He didn't what?"

"Touch me."

"Jaime didn't touch you?" she repeated slowly.

"No."

"So he didn't take your maidenhead?"

"No." Sansa's patience was without faults.

"You're still a maiden, a virgin pure and untouched?"

"Yes."

Margaery took a second to process that information. "And who knows that besides me?"

"Jaime. That's it. The maids saw blood stains on the sheets and they'll surely tell."

Margaery suddenly smiled and hugged Sansa tightly. "This is great news! No one is going to bug you with it for now, and if Robb were to win, you and Jaime could both testify. You could get an annulment!"

Sansa was beaming as well. All she had left to do was survive a few nights untouched and pray for Robb's victory. The rest was in the gods' hands.

"Come now, let's go present ourselves before our absence gets noticed." Margaery took her arm again and they walked back towards the throne room where king Joffrey was listening to the common men's pleads.

The man currently speaking was talking about a disease that killed his livestock and Joffrey looked bored as ever, probably not even listening. After a while, he just waved the man away.

"Not my concern. Get out of my sight before I fall asleep." His eyes searched the throne room when he finally found what he was looking for.

"Sansa!" he shouted.

Sansa froze. _What does he want from me now?_ She dutifully walked towards the throne and curtsied.

"Kneel." he ordered.

She did as she was told, noticing he was in a bad mood. "My king."

"Are you sure about that, Sansa?"

"Pardon me?" Sansa didn't understand. She thought he'd say something humiliating about her wedding.

"Do you truly consider me your king? After all, you are from the North and your brother crowned himself King."

 _Robb didn't crown himself. The bannermen proclaimed him as King._ Sansa felt the tide changing and she knew she had to be careful about every word leaving her mouth.

"Your grace, I would not dare to falsely call a traitor 'king'."

"Him being king would make you a princess, though. Wasn't that always your dream?" Joffrey's tone had a hint of a menace in it.

Sansa silently stared at him for a while. She felt like a helpless child. The throne room had never been more silent. "You are my one true king, your grace." Her voice was shaking only just a little. She felt her body turn cold.

"You had to send a letter to convince your brother to kneel. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, your grace."

"You failed."

She stared at the floor, hoping for some kind of help. But the only thing the tons of liars could do in King's Landing was stare. Stare and whisper.

"You failed your king. Now the traitor's pup's marching onto King's Landing, looking to slaughter us all!" Joffrey shouted furiously. The people gasped, scared.

"Your grace…"

"Your vermin brother thinks he can just march down south insulting his king! A vile pack of dirty, barbaric, disgusting dogs are coming to take King's Landing and I blame you! Your father was a dirty piece of shit and your brother and his bitch mother seem to have taken after him! I'll cut his head off, Sansa, trust me, I will!"

"Will you, though?" She interrupted his rant with a phrase barely louder than a whisper, feeling numb in her head. _I detest you. Hate you. Despise you._

"What?" With only one word Joffrey warned her, but she could not bring herself to stop.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

Joffrey stared at her in utter shock.

"You are only just a coward." she whispered. She knew he had heard, but doubted many others had. _Go on, Sansa. Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ and Sansa raised her chin and her voice. "The King in the North, your grace, is a courageous warrior. His thousands of soldiers would die for him in a heartbeat. He has men twice your size that could crush your skull with their bare hands and a wolf that could rip your throat open in seconds. _My brother_ is unbeaten on the battlefield. If I remember correctly, your grace, we have yet to see you on one."

Every single person's eyes were wide open with fear, set on Sansa Stark and the king's wrath boiling up.

"How _dare_ you insult me, you little wolf bitch!" Joffrey got up from the Iron Throne and ordered a King's Guard to hand him his crossbow.

The people were restless, talking louder and louder in panic and horror, some women were crying already. _Good. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

Joffrey aimed the crossbow at Sansa and she could make out the tip of the bolt staring right at her. She closed her eyes. _Grace, dignity and honour. Die a Stark of Winterfell._ The moment Joffrey let his bolt loose was the moment someone burst in screaming "What is happening?".

The bolt pierced Sansa's left upper arm and a shot of pain spread through her body. The blood pierced the red fabric of her dress and she screamed out in pain. Jaime marched towards her and took a quick look at her condition before ordering his guards to tend to her. He was standing in front of her, facing the king.

"What have you done?" he screamed angrily.

"The king can do as he likes!" Joffrey shouted. His face was all red and his mouth was a furious grimace. "She insulted me! She wants our defeat and she must be punished!"

"Here she is, your grace, wounded and all. Is that punishment enough for you?" Jaime's bitter tone betrayed his respectful approach. "She is only a dumb little girl. Is it not a _husband's_ duty to punish his wife?"

Joffrey took a moment to think, menacingly playing with his bolts before declaring: "I want her locked up. If I see her face here once more, I'll have that face put on a spike as a warning for her brother."

"I will see to it." Jaime bowed lightly and motioned his guards to leave before the king could change his mind. Sansa weight rested on guards on both her sides while she bit down the painful cries. She tried to catch Jaime's attention, but he walked quickly towards their chambers, staring ahead of him. When they arrived, the guards sat her down on the bed and left to fetch the maester.

"Jaime…" Sansa said weakly.

Jaime was pacing through the room, muttering under his breath, refusing to set eyes on her.

"Jaime, look at me!"

He stopped. His face seemed to be terribly disappointed and full of rage.

"What do you think you're doing? One minute, I'm in my bath and the next I hear you're defying the king!" Jaime seemed almost as angry as Joffrey.

Sansa stood from her bed, his anger only inciting hers again. "He is no true king. I'll spit in his face before I ever bow down to him again!"

Jaime approached her, grabbed her arms to shake her. It made her eyes well up from the pain. "Wake up, Sansa! He's the king and you're nothing more than a traitor's daughter!"

"I am the princess of Winterfell!" she screamed. It was the first time she actually said it out loud and gods, it felt good. "The blood of the First Men flows through my veins. My ancestors are Kings of Winter, my brother is the King in the North and he's coming down for revenge. And I will never let your bastard speak to me like that again!"

Jaime's hand swung at her face and she only realized it when the sharp pain tried to take over her focus. Jaime looked as shocked as she was and he stared at his left hand and the mark he had left on her face.

"I've always found lions quite vile beasts. Lurking around their prey, thinking they'll beat everything that gets in their way."

"Lions are glorious animals and deserve more respect from you."

"You know nothing of bravery, loyalty. Honour least of all. You think cold can't bring you down? When winter comes you'll hear no lions roar. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." Sansa felt stronger than ever repeating her father's words. "The pack is stronger than ever and defends each other at all costs." She spoke clearly and her tone could not have been mistaken for anything other than dismay. Her face was only inches away from his and he could see the hurt and pain in her cold blue eyes, out for vengeance.

Jaime pulled his head back while careful not to leave her eyes. His tone was miles milder than Sansa's, but just as deadly. "Is that so? And where _is_ your pack, Sansa?"

 _Fear cuts deeper than swords._


	12. A fever to beat

Her left arm was sore and pulsing. Sansa felt sweat drops fall down her forehead as Grand Maester Pycelle was cleaning the wound with boiling wine. He had just taken out the arrow and Sansa had never felt such intense pain build up in one place.

"Give her some milk of the poppy," said Pycelle and the maid did as she was told.

Sansa gladly opened her mouth and swallowed the sweet milk, hoping it would numb her. She bit on her lip in refusal to scream, but when she tasted the blood and felt the burning on the wound, she couldn't help but moan of despair. When that part was finally over, Pycelle used a stinky poultice made of bread mold and nettles, applied it to the wound and tied it with a cloth. Another cold cloth was placed on her forehead and Grand Maester Pycelle rose.

"Well?" asked Jaime. He sounded quite worried at the sight of her.

"If she makes it through the night, she could be just fine."

"But will she?"

"She is young and healthy. I expect her to make it, even though I do not wish to get your hopes up, my lord." Pycelle walked slowly towards the door. "I would advise you to put her back in her room, her presence might be inconvenient for you. After all, she will be in pain and in constant supervision."

"What? No. She's staying here."

"It is very honorable of you to be concerned of your sweet wife's health, my lord, despite her traitor blood. That is a quality of a…"

"I thank you for your concern, Grand Maester." Jaime cut him off, looking annoyed.

"Yes, well, I'll be back in a couple of hours to refresh her bandages and to check. Her fever must be kept down and an infection avoided and in the worst case, contained. Your maids will be around and will come get me if anything happens."

"Thank you." Jaime closed the door and sighed. Then, he observed the two maids. They were the same two maids, the blonde and the brunette, of the other day. Cersei's spies, for sure. "Get out."

The blonde maid tapping Sansa's forehead with a cold cloth froze in her actions. The brunette rose. "Excuse me, my lord?"

"I said, get out."

"But, my lord-"

"Do as I say. I do not want either of you near her."

The two maids lowered their heads and curtsied, before heading out.

"And would you please tell my dear sister that I want maids in _my_ service, not hers. Keep your noses out of my room." He slammed the door behind them and walked towards the bed.

"Why?" Sansa's voice was a weak shadow of what it used to be.

"I'm not going to trust Cersei's spies with your life. She's been wanting your head for ages and does not have the necessary wisdom to realize this is the most important time to keep you alive. Even my father can't keep her tentacles away from you."

"Shae…" Sansa murmured. She was dazing off, but she knew who she wanted by her side.

"What? Who's Shae?"

"My old handmaiden… I trust her. Find Shae." Sansa's eyelids had never felt heavier and she fell asleep.

* * *

"Lady Sansa…"

Her eyes opened and her vision sharpened. She was looking into Shae's brown eyes and she almost smiled, but Shae looked alarmed. "You have a visitor."

Sansa's eyes scanned the room for Jaime, but she couldn't find him anywhere. Instead, her eyes found Tywin Lannister, in all his glory.

"Good evening, Sansa."

"Evening?" Sansa looked out the windows and realized it was dark outside.

"I see you are well taken care off. How are you feeling?"

 _It must be a very critical time for Tywin Lannister to come check on his most valuable hostage's life himself._ "Better, thank you." She was lying. Her arm was still killing her.

"King Joffrey apologizes for the punishment he chose."

Sansa just stared at Tywin and he stared back, both knowing it wasn't true.

"The boy shouldn't play with bolts." grumbled Tywin, more to himself than to her. "And you shouldn't stand up to the king. These are dangerous times. You are a Lannister now."

"I must've forgotten." was her dry answer.

Tywin Lannister's eyes pierced right through hers. "You sowed fear in the Red Keep with your little display, yesterday."

Sansa resisted the urge to grin at that statement. _Good._

"The people are now whispering tales of giants and wolves. It will be hard to calm them down. But we will manage, of course." Tywin moved towards the door. "You are under… what should I call it… Room arrest? You will not leave this chamber until I say otherwise."

"Don't you mean the king?"

Tywin stopped in his tracks but didn't look back at her. "Yes, of course. The king." He left.

Sansa sank back in the big pillows and sighed. Shae let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in.

"Where's Jaime?"

"Gone. He said to send for him if anything happened, but he didn't say where he was going."

Sansa felt a sense of abandonment and she didn't know why his absence bugged her so much.

"How does he treat you?"

Sansa looked into Shae's eyes, determined to find out the truth. "Well."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"You paused. You had to think. If he truly treated you well, you wouldn't hesitate." Shae grabbed Sansa's chin and turned her right cheek towards her. "What's this mark then? I didn't hear any word of a beating by Joffrey's men."

Sansa had forgotten the possibility of a bruise on her face. She avoided Shae's prying eyes. "It's nothing."

"Tell me, Sansa. Does he _enjoy_ beating you?" Shae said it carefully.

"What? No! It's nothing like that. He hadn't touched me before."

"Before what?"

"Before yesterday. We were fighting and he slapped me." She hadn't expected it. But what could she have expected of a man without honour?

"Are you saying he never laid a hand on you before?" Shae looked unconvinced.

"No."

Not once?"

It took a moment for Sansa to decide what she should say. But she knew she could trust Shae. "No. I asked him not to. He said he wouldn't touch me, not while there's a chance for Robb's return."

Her beloved handmaiden took a moment to process that information. She stood, walked around in the room and came back to Sansa's bed. "Don't let him hit you again. Or _touch_ you."

Sansa smiled, closed her eyes and let Shae caress her hair. It was a soothing feeling that reminded her of her mother.

"And what if Robb loses?"

Sansa's eyes snapped open. She hated to be reminded of the possibility. "Then I'll have to fulfill my duty."

"Will you?"

Sansa stared into Shae's dark eyes. "I'd rather die than give them a key to the North."

"A son, I presume?"

"Even a daughter would be enough in the worst circumstances." Sansa sighed. "The northerners will never forgive me if I bear a Lannister child to take over Winterfell and the North. I'll forever be the Stark who gave the North away."

"What will you do, drink a daily moon tea? Now that you're married, you won't be able to escape it forever. Look at you, already in his bed."

"He'll raise my children to act and behave like Lannisters."

"Don't overestimate the role of a father. All he'll do is teach his sons how to fight. They'll be lucky at that, considering he used to be the best knight in the Realm. But you're the mother. You'll teach them the ways of the North. You'll raise them to be Starks in all but name. The northerners might grow to love them after all."

Sansa looked away, out the window. A future as a Lannister was not one she wanted to think about. Would they live in Casterly Rock or would they move to Winterfell? Would Tywin send her eldest son to Winterfell, taking him away from her? Would she live out her lonely days in a southern castle built by her enemies? _No, no, no. This was never meant to be my future._ How could she possibly love Lannister children with golden hair and venomous green eyes?

"But what if I hate them?" The whisper was desperate. The thing was, Sansa didn't know if she wanted to love them or hate them. Both seemed too difficult for her.

"You won't." said Shae without hesitation. "A mother loves her children. No matter who they are or what they do."

"Love is weakness…" Sansa mumbled. She didn't want to think like Cersei, but her words always stuck. Sansa moved to get out of bed.

"My lady!" Shae protested, holding her good arm.

"I need air. It's too hot." Sansa stumbled towards the balcony despite her physical weakness.

"Maybe I should try to draw you a cold bath?" Shae disappeared in the bathroom.

Sansa took the cold air in. The balcony was facing west. She could still see a faint orange glow in the distance, but the sky was dark already. She had a view over the city. It was still bubbling with life. Further up she could make out the strong city walls that were going to have to keep Robb out. She squinted her eyes to see behind the walls, but there was obviously no sign of an army. _Robb's not here yet.  
_ The fresh breeze was coming from the north. She smiled and closed her eyes. The northern winds soothed her and her pulsing arm. The drops of sweat on her face disappeared. She leaned forward and looked down. She was at least 70 meters above the ground. The palace gardens were all around the Red Keep. She tried to picture the image of her broken body between the flowers, a bloody pool around her chest and her red hair fanned out _. Deliverance._ The cold winds were starting to find their way through her white shift but she didn't notice. Drops of rain were falling from the sky but she didn't notice.  
Sansa climbed up on the large stone balustrade. She stood there, feeling the strong winds, concentrating on keeping her balance. The rain was getting stronger and she enjoyed the cold drops on her skin. _Jump or fall?_

"Sansa!"

Sansa tried to recognize the voice as strong arms pulled her from the balustrade.

"What were you thinking?" Jaime screamed in horror, pulling her inside. She had never seen him so worried before.

"I wasn't."

Shae came out of the bathroom and her mouth fell open at the scene. Sansa was all wet from the rain, held by Jaime. He pushed her on a chair. Things were going too fast for Sansa, her head was spinning. _What just happened?_

"Why are you trying to kill yourself?" he shouted.

Sansa just stared into the distance with a bewildered look on her face, shivering. He shook her. She yelped. He had forgotten her arm again and let her go. "I wasn't. I swear. I just wanted to know what it feels like."

"To jump?"

"I wasn't going to jump. I was just…" Sansa couldn't finish her sentence. _Practicing_?

"Then why did you stand up there?"

She looked into his eyes. He looked much older than that morning, with a confused and angry face. "Because I might do it someday." was her simply honest answer.

All Jaime did was stare at her with an open mouth.

"You said so yourself. I'm nothing but a lone wolf waiting for death." _The lone wolf dies._

Jaime rose, closed the door to the balcony and the curtains. He faced Shae. "Don't ever leave her side again." He burst out the door.

Shae gently took Sansa's arm and helped her rise. "Come, you'll bathe and sleep. Don't forget, we have a fever to beat."


	13. Scarred

**Hi everyone**

 **I'm sorry if it's taking longer for chapter updates, but it's been a busy period school-wise for me. I also wasn't really sure how to pave the road to where I know I'm going, but now I have an idea. I'm really not sure for the battle chapter(s) coming up, cause I've never written anything remotely close to a battle. Please give me your opinions/thoughts on this chapter, I love to read reviews! Enjoy!**

* * *

"I want to go."

"My lady, we have orders."

Sansa tried her very best to stand tall and proud and speak with a voice that expects nothing but obeisance, but it was just very hard to do with two towers of massive guards placed in front of her door, facing her and blocking the way and view to the hallway.

"Orders made by whom?"

"Lord Tywin, my lady."

"Lord Tywin has no power over me." Sansa made a move to pass them, but they moved their iron chests in front of her. _I have to get out of this room._ Sansa had been driven crazy by the closed doors of the past two days and just had to get out.

"Lord Tywin and I share no blood. And as a northern lady currently residing in King's Landing, the laws of his lands don't affect me either. Therefore, he has no claim to controlling me."

The two guards didn't move an inch.

"He has, though."

The guards moved out of Jaime's way who was entering his room. "He's both the Hand of the King and your father in law. But I think you know that. On top of that, the King has made it clear he does not wish to see you again. You know, the king of the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps?"

"I didn't say I was going to sway in front of the king, begging for his attention. How stupid do you think I am?" Sansa said, irritated. She moved back into the room but Jaime didn't leave the doorstep and the open door. "Besides, I think you counted wrong."

Jaime ignored her witty remark. "Maybe you should be begging for forgiveness instead. I think he might like that."

"Or he might just be in a bad mood and put my head on a spike like he said he would."

Jaime shrugged. "It's a possibility…"

Sansa wanted to stand tall in defiance, but she was getting tired. Even with her arm better, she was still physically weak from the fever.

"Those guards treat me like nothing but a little girl. They should obey me. Am I not their superior?"

"Men are easily distracted by your face, my lady."

Sansa stared back at him. _Someday men will obey me._

"You should sit."

"Maybe I should sit in my own room. It'd be better for the both of us."

"You're staying right here."

"Am I?"

Jaime sighed in irritation. "Since when did you become so unpleasant?"

" _Unpleasant_ , my dear husband?" was her answer in feigned surprise.

"All that arrogant defying will only get you in more trouble. You're lucky it's only me."

Sansa laughed and sat down. "Oh, _I'm_ arrogant?"

Jaime once again ignored her sneer. "You won't be seeing lots of me today. Or tomorrow."

"Why?"

"You want to share our plans, now?"

"It is only fitting, as husband and wife, is it not?"

"There's a battle to prepare."

"What a coincidence, I have a balcony to jump off as well!"

"Sansa…"

"You see, shedding northern blood is in both our plans today." Sansa wasn't planning on jumping; standing on the balcony had been something she had done in some sort of feverish trance. But she enjoyed irritating him, she couldn't help it.

"Don't push me to put a guard on there, because trust me, I will." Jaime squinted his eyes looking at the table and the empty goblets. "Have you been drinking?"

 _Busted._ "Who are you to judge me on my drinking habits?"

He approached the table and looked at the empty can. He sighed and motioned Shae to take the full one away. "Goodbye, wife." Jaime walked out the door and the guards closed it behind him.

Sansa sighed in irritation and leaned back in her chair.

"He's right. You shouldn't drink so much. You don't handle it very well." Shae poured her a glass of water.

"What, you think I'm being _unpleasant_ too?" Sansa said in mocking tone.

"No, just a royal pain in the ass, that's all." Shae made the bed. "You're not ready to go out. You need your rest or the fever might pop up again, said Pycelle. You're weak."

"I'm not even remotely weak." Sansa said, drastically standing up. Black dots formed in her vision and she almost fell out of balance. She had felt herself being annoying all day but she couldn't stop it. Not even for Shae.

Shae sighed. "I'll keep the wine away from the room from now on. Now get in bed."

Sansa wanted to protest but just opened and closed her mouth before eventually giving up. Shae was not one to mess with. She undid the rather loose laces of her dress and crawled into bed.

Shae renewed the bandages on her arm and inspected the wound. "It'll leave a mark. Even though it will fade with time, you'll be scarred for life."

Sansa took a peak at her upper left arm. The ugly pink scar was starting to form under the crust, but it wasn't too big. _My very own battle scar._ She turned her arm to see the wound on the other side, where the arrowhead had pierced out. That one was slightly more painful when she touched it.

"Could you do something for me?" she asked reluctantly after long consideration.

"Depends on what it is."

"If I have to stay in here, I'll need some company. The gods know my husband isn't very good at it."

"I'm sure Margaery or Myrcella will drop by one of these days."

"I wasn't talking about them."

Shae squinted her eyes. "What?"

"Could you find a way for me to see Tobias Lance?"

Shae needed a second or two to place the name, but when she did, her face was alarming. She got up. "No. Are you crazy, Sansa? You are a married woman!"

"Please, Shae, I only want to see him. I haven't seen him since…" Sansa blushed at the thought of the night before her wedding.

"Oh no…" Shae realized at the sight of Sansa's expression. "Since when?"

"He kissed me." Sansa whispered. She smiled a little. "Well, actually, I think I did… But does it even matter?"

Shae slapped Sansa's leg. "No! You are insane! You could've been seen! Please tell me it wasn't after the wedding."

"No, no, of course not. Just the night before."

"You make it sound like that's not just as bad."

Sansa giggled like the stupid girl she was before Joffrey showed his true colours.

"Stop that!" Shae said, annoyed.

"Please, Shae. I just need to talk to him one last time. It feels unfinished."

"No, Sansa." Shae said resolutely. "I thought that was a rumour."

"All because of that flower?"

Shae shrugged. "It blew over quickly. But if anyone…" Shae took both of Sansa's hands in between hers. "Look at me. Promise me you won't see him again."

"But…"

"It's for your own good. Both of you. If anyone sees you two together…" Shae didn't have to finish the sentence for Sansa to understand.

"Fine. I won't." as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she wasn't going to keep them.

"I'm serious, Sansa. You might get away with some sort of punishment, but he'll lose his head for it. Or worse. Don't make him love you, Sansa. You'll be his downfall."

Sansa just nodded, unable to answer or even think.

Shae sighed and sat on the bed. "I didn't know you liked gold cloaks."

"Neither did I."

* * *

After a while, Sansa fell asleep again and she woke up to the sound of city bells. She needed a moment to recover from the sudden awakening. It was night; there was no light. _Have I slept this long?_ Sansa was alone in her room. Neither Jaime nor Shae were there. There was some sort of noise; the city wasn't asleep. She got up, tied a robe around her waist and lighted a candle. Suddenly, a bonk on the door almost made her drop the candle. She went to the door and opened it.

She felt his lips on hers before she had even processed his face. _Tobias._

"You're here!" she sighed, hugging him tightly. He returned the favor, but not for long.

"You better be alone. I shouldn't have kissed you."

"I'm alone, don't worry." Sansa said, smiling. She was beaming, so very happy to see him. A red stain on the floor caught her attention and led her eyes to the cut open throat of a guard. The other guard was stabbed in the shoulder. Panic rose in her chest. "What did you do to the guards? Are you insane?"

"Hush, hush… They died quickly. Quickly, put a cloak on. Anything with a hood."

Sansa did as she was told and changed her robe for another with a large hood that hid her hair and shaded her face. "Why? Will you tell me what's going on? I'm married now, I can't just elope with-"

Tobias took her hand and looked around, making sure they were alone before he led her through the halls.

He was scaring her and she couldn't stand not understanding his behavior. "What's happening?"

He led her down stairs she had never noticed. "It's all coming to an end."

Sansa almost tripped and noticed she was bare footed again. "What?"

"The battle has begun."


	14. No escape

Running through some deserted hallways, Sansa didn't know where Tobias was leading her. He wouldn't answer her. All she knew was that he was taking her east, away from the action, and for some reason she didn't understand, it disappointed her.

"Where are we going?"

They found their way through some doors and outside yards into stables by the docks. Some empty little boats were floating in the dirty water. A thick fog was hanging over the water, as if it was preparing for something terrible, warning them.

"I'll take you somewhere safe." he said. He inspected the stables, but it was hard to see anything in the darkness.

Sansa could make out the shimmer of a blade approaching Tobias' back. "Look out!" she screamed.

Tobias ducked and stabbed his attacker in the guts without even facing him. The man fell on the ground and some of his intestines fell out of his belly. Sansa noticed his messy hair and tears on his pink round cheeks. He couldn't be much older than 12. He'd never be older than 12.

"He's only just a stable boy." Sansa said with a gulp in her throat.

"A boy with a knife." Tobias said. "Come. I know the way."

"The way to what?" she said.

"The sewerage. The city is surrounded. This is the only safe way out." He reached for her hand, but she refused.

"The sewerage? Are you crazy? I'm not going in there."

"Now is not the time to be scared of dirty stinky water, Sansa. Are you going to risk your life over that?" His tone was more insistent and annoyed.

"I'm not risking my life. Both sides want me alive after this battle."

"Well I'm risking my life for you!" he shouted unexpectedly. Sansa stared at his tensioned face, trying to understand him.

"You don't have to." she whispered. She took her hand up to his face and caressed a small cut on his temple, wondering who'd given it to him. "I don't want to leave the city." she declared slowly and clearly.

His face looked puzzled and hurt. "Why not? We can run off together. Escape the danger. This is the time, everyone is busy worrying about something else than the whereabouts of Sansa Stark. We can leave this place, like I said. Be together. If you want, we can take a rowboat, but with this fog, I wouldn't risk-"

"What makes you think I want to escape the city where my fate will be sealed?" Sansa interrupted his promises. "This is it, Tobias. What I've been waiting for for years. What makes you think I want to escape the battle? They've come for me. _My_ people. If you took me outside of the city walls, we could-"

"I'm not taking a lady on a battlefield. Even your brother would understand that."

They both stared at each other, stubborn and unprepared to lose the discussion.

"No northerner will hurt me."

"And you think every butcher's boy who was summoned to fight knows what you look like? Look at you. Dressed like that, it would take a close look to realize your cloak's not made out of plain wool."

"You're not going to stop me from finally seeing my family again."

"I am. It'll get you killed."

Sansa was irritated at his stubbornness. _How can he be so blind?_ "The battle is not being fought outside the city walls. There were sounds inside the city, I heard it."

"The army didn't breach the walls, Sansa. But it's only a matter of time. They arrived at least three days earlier than expected. And the attack in the middle of the night wasn't planned either. They surprised everyone, half the soldiers were sleeping."

"We have to-" Sansa's sentence trailed off as her eyes found a pool of blood on a table and on the floor.

"What?" Tobias asked, following her eyes to what she was looking at.

"Someone's been here."

Now that their eyes had gotten used to the dark, they noticed multiple blood spats on the walls. Tobias took out his sword and handed a dagger to Sansa. They looked around, looking for clues to what could have happened there. There was a foot peeking out from behind a door. Sansa ran to see who it was. She turned the body over to see the man's face.

"He's a servant." she said. "And here's another one." She motioned to another dead man lying next to him. "Why kill a servant?" She took of her cloak to wipe blood of one man's face.

Tobias looked around, trying to understand the scene. Dead servants in secluded stables. And suddenly he knew. "Because the servant will alert the gold cloaks of the northerners passing through the sewerage."

"Are you saying…"

"They're here."

Sansa didn't know whether to be scared or to be happy, but the moment was interrupted by noise of iron clashing against iron and shouting coming from the palace. Coming closer.

"Quickly! In the water." He ran out of the stables towards the docks.

"What?" She followed him blindly.

"Those are Joffrey's men. Hide!" he pulled her with him in the dark water behind a little rowboat. The cold water took a hold of Sansa's body and the fast dip made her freeze. The water came up to her chin, she was fighting with her feet, trying to remember how to swim. She felt Tobias's arm hold her waist against his body and felt his strong shoulders behind her, holding her like a cocoon. His feet seemed to reach the bottom, so she stopped kicking her feet and calmed down. She found her steady breath again as she felt his in her neck. They peeked from behind the boat at 4 Lannister soldiers who seemed to have been alarmed of the entrance into the city.  
A group of 8 men suddenly appeared from the sewerage and they swiftly killed the Lannisters in seconds. They were energetic, raging, out for revenge. They had the Stark sigil on their plain armors and had a rustic northern look about them while they silently cut the last man's throat. _Northerners._

Sansa beamed of happiness and tried to call out to them, but Tobias' hand came over her mouth and his arms held her tightly. He pulled her a little deeper into the water, with only her nose above the surface. She was struggling to get free of his grip. _Why is he holding me back?_ She wanted to scream out to the Stark men that she was in the water, but they quickly moved into the deserted streets to find their way into the palace. When the sound of them died out, Tobias moved his hand and let go of her. She pushed away from him, furious. He tried to help her out of the water, but she kicked his arms away and climbed out on her own.

"Sansa!" he shouted.

She was raging, walking away from him towards the stables. But he quickly catched up to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled. "How dare you?!"

The wind only seemed colder with her body all wet and exposed, but she barely noticed.

"Sansa, hush!" he said. "Calm down." He threw his breastplate on the ground and soaked out his tunic.

"Those were _my_ men! They fight for _my_ side! You had no right to keep me from them!"

He approached her, holding her arms. She shook him off.

"You're shivering." he said.

"You," she said, pointing her finger at him, "have no power over me. Do I need to remind you that I am my own master?"

"Sansa, stop it." he whispered, urging her to keep her voice down.

"Where do your loyalties lie?"

He noticed her voice was breaking and he moved closer to her, letting her head rest against his chest as he held her. His sound of his beating heart steadied her breathing and her tears dried out.  
They were both wet, and suddenly Sansa was very aware of the fact that she was close to naked. Her shift was slightly transparent from the water and sticking to her body. His tunic was drenched and she could feel his muscles against her cheek and hand. There were only two layers between them and she knew he realized it too at the sudden stiffness of his body. She noticed he had tried slightly too hard not to let his eyes wander just before. She pulled back uncomfortably. Wet hair was sticking to her face and he pushed it back.

"Does he treat you right?" he asked, out of the blue.

"What?" she walked into the stables and picked up her cloak that was lying next to the corpse.

"The Kingslayer."

"Don't call him that." she said, as the word bugged her. She knew the word hurt Jaime's feelings, and every time she'd see him flinch at it, she softened a little more towards him. She put the cloak back on and was glad for the little protection it gave her.

" _You_ called him that four days ago."

She silently stared at him, annoyed at the fact that he'd brought it up. "He treats me as well as he can."

"Then what is that mark on your face?"

 _Dammit._ The mark his slap had left her was still not gone, as the ring had slightly cut into her cheekbone. "That was one time."

"You let him do that to you?"

"Tell me again how this concerns you?" Sansa snapped at him.

He clearly felt attacked by her sneer, but he ignored it and let it go.

"We should go."

"What, so you can hide me from northerners again?"

"Sansa…"

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Sansa suddenly remembered why she was mad at him and crossed her arms.

"You're not going to crawl through the sewerage, are you? Somewhere armed men pass through, who'd only enjoy seeing you in your current state in a dark tunnel?"

Sansa knew it was a bad idea, but didn't know what to do. No northerner was going to recognize her now unless they sent the bannermen into the sewerage. _Highly unlikely._

"They'll be looking for you by now."

"Who?"

"The King's Guard. Joffrey's a dangerous man when he's desperate." Tobias put his armor back one and picked up the dagger she had dropped next to the corpse.

"He's a coward. Just like at the battle of the Blackwater, he'll run back into his mother's arms when the swords get too close to him."

"Which makes him harder to kill." He handed her the dagger.

"Well, the worst ones always live." She hid it in a large pocket of her cloak.

"We're going back into the palace."

"They'll seize me and kill you as soon as we set foot there."

"It's the safest place in the city." he said, staring in the distance, through a little window.  
His grey eyes lit up with a strange yellow light. Sansa turned her head to see what he was staring at. _Fire_. Of course there was fire in the distance. Not a battle goes by without a fire.

"They're inside." He declared, with a shaky voice. "We have to go now."

He faced her, and for a moment Sansa thought he was going to kiss her. But he reached for her hood and put it over her head. It completely hid her hair and shaded her face. In the midst of the night, she was unrecognizable. He took her hand yet again and led her through the stables and yards into palace hallways.

The halls were deserted. The women must've been led to safety under the city ground and the men were fighting. Suddenly, they heard noise coming from a corridor and Tobias quickly pushed Sansa into a shaded niche. They hid behind the corner, praying the men wouldn't see them.

"How did they manage to get inside so quickly?"

"Those dogs got inside through secret passageways. All the men must be at the city gates, defending them. They didn't even get the time to prepare boiling water! Those bastards came so unexpectedly, there's nothing to pour down the rampage. There's an immense army of tens of thousands northern goat-fuckers at our doors."

"Why are we even guarding these halls? There's no one here!"

"Take it as a blessing."

"What are we here for, anyways?"

"In case northerners got inside the palace halls. And we have to look for that wolf bitch. Where'd she ran off to, anyways?"

"Her brother, probably. I guess the Kingslayer didn't give her enough love."

They both snickered.

"And _she_ killed those guards?"

The men laughed and passed them without seeing them, continuing their route.

Sansa let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in and Tobias did too.

"You must hide." he said with determined eyes.

Sansa was startled. _Why didn't he say 'we'?_ "Where?"

"Somewhere they already looked. I'll follow them and kill them."

"You're leaving me?"

He put his hand on her cheek. "I'll come back. I swear."

Her eyes were getting wet and she just nodded. "I'll go to my old room."

He kissed her forehead before leaving her and stroked her hair. "Be safe, my love."


	15. Treacherous

**Don't let the length fool you. This chapter is not to be underestimated.**

* * *

 _The fog was thick and heavy. No other weather could've been better for an attack. The old gods were with them.  
The blessed men had turned off all the lights on the ship, and when Joffrey's soldiers on the east side of the city walls would finally see the ships' faded forms, it would be too late to summon a decent force to welcome them. Common sense suggested that the men on the lookout would be scarce. After all, most of them were fighting the Northerners off at the city gate to try and prevent them from bursting in. Others were trying to kill those already inside, spreading panic, fear and blood. The few remaining would be protecting the cowards, ladies and children inside the palace. The bastard King would be one of them. Easy to find, harder to kill.  
The silence was overpowering. Not one sound was threatening their arrival into Blackwater Bay at the crack of dawn. All the soldiers were holding their breath, freezing their bodies, staring into the distance. Preparing themselves for the climax of their lasting war. All or nothing._

 _The tension was unbearable. The wolves had a bursting energy craving for revenge that tasted like Lannister blood. They sailed into the bay, closer and closer to the city. They saw flickering lights and heard battle sounds, only too familiar to them. King's Landing was finally there, singing to them like a siren. Luring them in like moths to a flame. But this time, the moths were lusting for vengeance. For Eddark Stark's honour and Robb Stark's justice.  
The north remembers, but King's Landing's forces seemed blind. Surely by now, the fog couldn't protect them from sight any longer. Were the damned lookouts and guards asleep? Why was there no bell being rung? No horn being blown? No swords being drawn? The northerners were uneasy, weary of a trap, whispering and clutching their swords. _

_They somehow managed to get off their ships on the ground without any resistance. The shadows on the eastern city walls were just staring at them, barely even moving. The leading lords Flint and Manderly were confused as well and approached the enemy soldiers closest to them, swords drawn. Their armors weren't marked with a Lannister lion, a City Watch or a King's Guard sigil. It was a golden rose. The prominent Tyrell man had a brown beard and lively and cunning green eyes. He stared at the sword's shimmer, only to raise his head and calmly face lord Manderly's eyes. He didn't say a word. He just raised his index finger to his lips._

 _Lord Manderly lowered his sword and his look slowly un-puzzled itself. The Tyrell soldier nodded at him and raised his hand, resulting in a fire being lit in a dark tower of the eastern city walls._

 _He gestured something and the other Tyrell soldiers parted, making way for the northerners. The bearded man motioned towards the city, open to the touch.  
"The city is yours."_

 _The wolves crawled into the lion's den, followed by the treacherous roses. The Tyrell forces had changed allegiance yet again, declaring for the King in the North. King's Landing was open for conquest._


	16. Raining arrows

Her bare feet were getting sore as Sansa ran through the hallways towards her old room. She finally arrived and ran inside, closing the door behind her back. She sank down behind the door to catch her breath and steady her heartbeat. Darkness and serenity were finally found when she closed her eyes and let her head empty itself. After a while, she opened them again and took the room in. She had been in Jaime's room for less than a week, but it seemed an eternity ago that she had slept in this bed.

Sansa got up, walked towards her bed and fell on her knees. She pulled out the hidden chest from under her bed and opened it. She found some toys from when she was younger, all protected by Sandor Clegane's bloody white cloak from the battle of the Blackwater. A beautiful embroidered wolf on a handkerchief she had made and another handkerchief, made by Arya, where the wolf looked more like a beaten up dog than anything else. The doll her father had given her had a blood stain on her dress. Whether that blood was Sandor's or a Baratheon man's, she'd never know.

Sansa sighed, wishing she had something reminding her of every sibling. But Jon was never a sibling she had shown much interest to, and she had failed to get something from Bran and Rickon the day she had left. They had cried like little babies, and she had kissed them, but had barely succeeded into containing her excitement about King's Landing and the queen she would eventually become.

Sansa laughed bitterly. Then, she had thought that her entire family would have been invited to her wedding to Joffrey. Her father would have given her away and she would have danced with all her brothers. One of them might've gotten a place on the King's Council eventually, and maybe some of her siblings would've stayed in King's Landing with her, adjusting to the enjoyable southern lifestyle. The life she had pictured long ago seemed so ridiculous to her now. _What a joke._ How could she ever have thought that reality was like a song? Its abrupt end had sounded like the sword slashing her father's head off.

And now Robb was at the gates, risking his life every single second. In a different world, where her father had made the wiser decision, her brother wouldn't have brought an army with him. She wouldn't have been a hostage. Things would've been much simpler if only her father had forsaken his honour. But "if" was probably the most useless word ever invented.

She prayed and prayed, to the old gods and the new, even the ones she didn't know yet, that they would spare her brother. The Hound's bloody cloak only reminded her of what had been waiting for Stannis and Robb did not deserve a similar fate. The thought of her brother's head on a spike left to rot, made her shiver. _Stay the swords and stay the arrows, let him know a better day._

Her thoughts were interrupted by noise in the hallway. She quickly pushed everything back under the bed and grabbed a pair of scissors before hiding behind the panel room divider where she used to dress behind. She was looking through the cracks when a single guard entered her room. He was enormous and of the King's Guard. _Joffrey sent for me,_ she realized.

"Where's the little bird…" the man muttered, looking around the room. He walked around, messing up her stuff. He checked on the balcony and in the bathroom quickly, like he didn't expect to find her, when he planned on leaving the room. The room divider was just next to the door and Sansa held her breath as she heard her heart pound. He was about to open the door when he glanced at the screen she was behind. He froze and looked attentively. Sansa closed her eyes, too afraid to look. For a couple of seconds she didn't hear anything but the beating of her heart.

When she finally mustered the courage to open her eyes in hope of seeing an empty room, the only thing she saw through the cracks was the man's face and his big black eyes staring right at her. He had a wicked smile. "Hello, there."

Sansa screamed and ran from him towards the balcony and tried to close the door behind her, but he easily countered her strength. She ran as far from him as she could when she mustered all the courage she had and stood on the balustrade. The guard froze.

"If you come any closer, I swear I'll jump." she said with a shaky voice, feeling the blade of the scissors cutting into her hand as she held it behind her back like she never wanted to let it go.

"Let's not play any games." grumbled the man and he just violently grabbed her from the balustrade. He was too strong and too tall to fight, but she did it anyways. She kicked him between the legs and he loosened his grip as he cursed. Sansa escaped his arms but he grabbed her wrist. "You'll pay for that, bitch." As he brutally turned her around, Sansa panicked and stabbed the scissors in the place between his steel shoulder and his neck. He cried out and she backed away.

She breathed heavily and stared at the giant man as he backed away too towards the balustrade. After a second of pain, he looked like he suddenly realized who he was again and he furiously grabbed the scissors and pulled them out. He started bleeding heavily, but he didn't seem too bothered as his face welled up with anger. Sansa was about to cry in desperation when a sudden arrow pierced his back. He gasped and his eyes turned hollow before he lost his balance and fell from the balcony.

Sansa's eyes were big and her vision blurred. She breathed fast in the realization of what had just happened. After a while, she ran towards the bloody balustrade and looked down. She could see the silhouette of a corpse in the grass of the Red Keep's gardens. She knew it was just in her head, but she felt his black eyes piercing through hers. Arrows were flying through the morning sky as she realized how close this meant the northerners were. She quickly backed away and back into her room.

She wanted to stay right there, to shield herself from the horror of death, and crawl into the bed. But she couldn't. The furniture was knocked down and there was blood on the balcony. There had clearly been a fight here. On top of that, the King's Guard might get alarmed at the fact that this man didn't return.

Sansa covered her head with her hood again. She quickly checked in the mirror to see what she looked like. Her nightshift had blood stains on them from her bloody hands. Both his and her blood. Her shocked eyes were wet. Her chest was going up and down fast and she forced herself to calm down. _He's dead. He's dead because of me. I killed him,_ a voice repeated in her head. She tried to shut it down. _Be brave, Sansa,_ she said to herself as she escaped her room like a shadow to go to the only other place she felt she knew.

* * *

Jaime's room felt strangely familiar to her as she entered. Only now she realized that it slightly smelled like lavender. Sansa didn't know why she felt safe here, but she couldn't deny that she did. Was it dumb to go to the last place the King's Guard knew she had been? Probably. Or maybe, it was the total opposite. It could be the last place they expected her to hide. _Time will tell_ , she told herself. She was exhausted both mentally and physically. The battle had taken its toll on her, despite the fact that she _wasn't_ fighting. She had practically been up all night, running around, trying to make out the difference between friend and foe and staying hidden from Joffrey. She didn't want to imagine what he'd do to her in a desperate act to take revenge on Robb's army at his gates.

She lit a single candle that she held in her hand and as she opened the closets to pass the time and as she touched Jaime's tunics, her thoughts went out to him. He was most probably fighting, even without his right hand. Many things could be said of Jaime Lannister, but he was no coward. The thought of him fighting with his left hand made her shiver. Maybe Sansa was a widow already with him knocked into the dirt. Was he capable of surviving the battle? Did she even want him to?

Sansa took a sniff of one of Jaime's tunics and smelled the unmistakable sent of Cersei's perfume. Disgusted, she closed the closet. Maybe the thought of his sister and lover would keep him going. Sansa had trouble understanding how anyone could ever love Cersei Lannister, one of the most despicable beings she knew. For a woman capable of deep and true love, she had the most hateful eyes every time she saw Sansa. She despised her, Sansa was sure of it. She never understood why. Sansa was no player, no Margaery, how could she ever have been a threat to her as a pawn?  
Yet she had raised two of the sweetest children there were. Sansa wondered how they'd fare when their innocent naivety would be taken from them. Sansa wondered _if_ it would ever be taken from them. She cared for them, surely, but if it had to be taken one day, she hoped this would be it. She hoped for Joffrey and Cersei's deaths most of all. She wished for the False King's head on a spike. She yearned for the fulfilling feeling of a debt paid. _A life for a life._

When Sansa heard someone at the door, it was too late. She dropped her candle and the metal's clinking noise welcomed the visitor. There he was in the doorstep, in all his glory.

Jaime Lannister.

His hair was disgusting, his armor was terribly bloody and his shimmering blade was more red than silver. _Ice. That's father's sword, not his._ He stumbled inside, closing the door behind him. He just stared at her.

"You're alive." she managed to say, in a raspy voice.

"Disappointed?"

Sansa didn't respond for she didn't know herself. He dropped his blade and his helmet and took off his gloves. He was exhausted as he fell back on the bed, dirtying the sheets.

"Well, Sansa, I must say your brother fights like a wolf."

"You saw him?" She could not hide her happiness at the mention of him until worry clouded her voice. "You fought him? He's still alive?"

Jaime took the can of wine next to the bed and poured himself a full cup. He didn't waste a single drop as he gulped it down in seconds before refilling it. "Are my ears deceiving me or does my lady wife sound excited at the traitor's survival?"

She looked straight at him, not even slightly taken aback. He sighed and brought the cup to his lips. "He wouldn't be if I still had my left hand."

"But you don't."

Jaime looked at her, before looking at his golden hand. He took it off rather aggressively. "Keenly observed of you, my lady." He then proceeded to drink his cup of wine rather slowly.

"So you fought him?"

He laughed. "We wouldn't both be alive if I did."

"Why are you here?" Sansa asked with a trembling voice.

"I was _ordered_ to find my way back into the safe palace. Can you believe that?" He laughed. "My sweet sister is so concerned for my life she just took the legendary Jaime Lannister, the only Lannister present on the battlefield, might I add, the only one upholding moral, out of our soldier's sight and had me _escorted_ here like a child. She might've just condemned the city."

"There are soldiers at our door?" The panic in her voice could not be hidden.

He looked at her pensively, suddenly aware of the power he had over her. "Ah yes, it's true, Joffrey's put a price on your head. Still… _attached_ , of course, at least for a moment. I couldn't begin to contemplate what he wants to do to you. I doubt it's a strategic move, considering it's… well… Joffrey."

For a moment, they just stayed there. She was standing in front of the windows and its storm of arrows and he was sitting on the bloody bed. Both looking at each other without truly seeing each other.

"How did he look?" she eventually asked, both curious and afraid of whatever answer was to come.

A sigh left Jaime's lips as he said "Like a king."

She hadn't seen Robb in 3 years. Three whole years. It was so hard to imagine him with a crown on his head. "He was never meant to be a king."

"Joffrey was. Born and raised as one. Look where that brought us."

Sansa smiled a sad smile, recalling her father's head rolling off his shoulders and her smile turned into a hard grimace. _Mercy,_ he called it.

"Yet here he is, cowering in his safe palace behind his tall walls. He probably pissed himself when he saw the army at our gates, as he ran back inside. Covered in rich velvet, a golden crown and a shiny armor. Shiny armors are a sign of cowardice, any true soldier would tell you that. While your brother's out there, fighting amongst his men. He could be only a knight by the looks of it, if his wolf wasn't fighting right alongside him."

"Grey Wind." she said with a whisper. When she left Winterfell, the wolves weren't much bigger than dogs. _But by now, Grey Wind must be as big as a pony. At least._

"I could recognize that one in any pack of wolves. His yellow eyes pierced right through mine when your brother paid me visits in my cage." His eyes zoned out, like talking about his times as a prisoner took him back to them.

Sansa just stared at him reliving the past when her sudden interest overcame her. "How did you escape?"

Jaime swallowed and avoided her look. She expected him to avoid the matter, like he had done before. But his voice turned into a broken whisper when he said "Your mother freed me."

Sansa froze. "That's a lie." she suddenly said with a sharp, resentful voice. "My mother wouldn't free you. Don't lie to me. I know my mother."

He looked at her with sad eyes, like he had given up. "Ah, dear wife, I fear we're far past the point of lying. What good would it do? Your mother freed me against your brother's wishes and tasked her sworn sword Brienne of Tarth with returning me to King's Landing safely."

"That's ridiculous!" Sansa said, raising her voice. "She wouldn't free someone like _you_." She said it with such disgust it felt like a stab wound to Jaime. "Bran's ill fate was something she suspected _your_ lot of. My mother doesn't easily forgive."

The fact that Jaime didn't defend himself from the accusation of Bran's fall and attempted murder was enough for Sansa to turn away from him in revulsion. _How could they do that to a little boy?_

He shook his head. "Your mother's no fool. Your brother's legs could never be saved, but her daughters' lives could. She wanted to trade me for you and your sister." He suddenly laughed. "And look at me. We lost one and I married the other. How's that for honor?"

Sansa's eyes were as hard as her steel skin as she heard herself utter bitter words. "You have none. You're the _Kingslayer_. You forsake every vow you take. You vowed to be lovingly faithful to your wife and you run off to your sister's arms while fever takes your wife. You vowed loyalty to king Robert yet you slept with his queen and fathered his children. You vowed to protect king Aerys with your life and you shoved a sword in his back."

Proud Jaime Lannister's eyes welled up and his green eyes shimmered of water. But he refused to cry. He looked broken. " _You don't know_."

"Don't know what?"

" _Burn them all_." he whispered, staring into the distance, back in his memories.

Sansa softened a bit at his hurt composure but she forced herself to remain the strongest person in the room. But she couldn't bear to look at him anymore. "You should go fight." she said. "Your soul needs every ounce of honor you can get."

He looked back up to her, snapped out of his thoughts. "Or maybe I should just tell the King's Guard where you are. After all, I vowed loyalty to my king."

Sansa swallowed. "You vowed loyalty to me as well. I ask nothing of you but your discretion. A chance. For me."

She knew she was getting through to him when he buried his head in his hands.

"Don't kill my brother." she pleaded softly, the words leaving her mouth faster than her thoughts created them.

Jaime stood. "Don't ask me to betray my blood."

Sansa laughed a bitter and resentful laugh. "Remember our happy wedding day? You made me betray mine."

Jaime couldn't bear any more guilt and put his helmet back on as he picked up his sword, walking towards the door.

"I hope they don't find you." he said genuinely as he wiped Eddard Stark's steel clean.

Sansa decided to utter equally truthful words as she simply and softly answered "I hope you lose."


	17. On my honour

**Hi everyone, this will be the last battle scene. I know it's been long but a lot can happen during 24 hours! I'll try not to keep you waiting for the next one too long ;) Please review, I'm dying for some feedback!**

* * *

Sansa had tried to sleep all day but she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. What if someone entered? Apparently, Jaime's visit to the room had made it clear to the soldiers that she was nowhere near to be found around here. He had kept his word. But the threat of exposure was keeping her eyes open and her muscles tense.  
Sansa got up from her hiding place behind the bed and slowly walked towards the balcony to attempt and see something from afar. She tried to look through the curtains as she didn't want to face the arrows flying across the sky. The sun was set much lower than when she last saw it in her room. It was past midday, the evening was slowly kicking in. King's Landing was literally on fire. She saw smoke everywhere, but failed to see flames. The northern army had long ago breached the walls and the fighting seemed to be concentrated around the Red Keep. The city was almost won; the last step was the hardest. Taking the palace.

Sansa felt like dancing in joy but her heart was full of worry. What if Robb dies anyway? What if they all fall into some kind of cunning trap? What if everyone gets butchered? The adrenaline flowing through her veins had kept her awake all night and day and would continue to do so.

Sansa walked back to her hiding spot and sat down on the cold floor again. Where was Tobias? He had said he'd kill the men and join her. It seemed ages ago. The sky had still been dark and the southern spirit had not yet been lost. _Why isn't he here to protect me?_

The enormous silence made Sansa jump up at the steps she suddenly heard in the hallway, for the first time since Jaime had left. She held her breath and hid under the large bed, in case they would enter. Her heart started pounding and with every step the person took, she prayed a little harder. _Don't make him enter. Please, gods. Don't make them find me._

But no man entered her room as a light-footed woman burst in and closed the door. Sansa saw her sandals and her simple dress. The woman's breath was hurried, as if she had ran.

"Sansa… Sansa, are you here?" the woman whispered, looking around. "Please gods, let her be here. I've looked everywhere…"

Shae.

Sansa immediately crawled out of her hiding place and Shae fell to her knees, taking her in for an embrace. Sansa held her tightly, so happy to finally see someone she could truly trust as she cried quietly in her handmaiden's neck. She smelled sweat and blood and salty tears, and did not know which ones of these belonged to her.

After a while of stroking her hair, Shae gently pushed her away.  
"Listen to me." she said, as she put her hands on Sansa's cheeks. She had this determined, focused look. "Listen."

Sansa blinked her tears away and did as she was told.

"The northerners have taken the city. They came from both west and east, with bloody ships."

"Ships?" Sansa said, surprised and confused. The northern force had never been known for warfare by sea. "How? Why didn't-"

Shae cut her off. "It doesn't matter, Sansa. Nothing matters. Focus. The only thing left to do for them is to take the Red Keep. Some men are already inside, and now they're at every possible entrance. Half the city's force has abandoned the sinking ship, in fear of death. And the Tyrells have turned on the Lannisters. The world is upside down, they're now fighting alongside the Starks. Only the gods know why…"

Sansa's eyes practically doubled in size. How on earth did that happen? _Women in our position must make the best of our circumstances,_ Margaery had once said. But how was this the best for the Tyrells? Their alliance with the Lannisters would get Margaery on the throne. Unless…

"It's because of Joffrey." Sansa blurted out. She was suddenly certain of it. "What's the point in having a Tyrell on the throne if the untrustworthy king would mistreat her gravely? The Lannisters have always been their greatest rivals, and now their supremacy is to be their downfall. The Tyrells intend to grow strong. And they're in their way."

Shae's eyes moved quickly, as if to follow her thoughts. "With the Tyrell and Stark forces joined, I fear we won't last through the night. Unless Tywin Lannister has a trick up his sleeve, in spite of his injury. It is imperative, Sansa, that, whatever the outcome, you stay safely hidden. Joffrey's practically going mad, ordering his men to search the city, to find you and bring you to him. Nobody knows what he's planning, Sansa, but it can't be good."

Sansa hoped she'd stay out of his threats' reach. But she had survived so far, she felt confident she would last a while longer. She smiled maliciously at the thought of Joffrey being so powerless, but her smile quickly faded when she thought of his enemy. "I feel so useless," Sansa muttered. "My brother's out there, risking his life, and all I'm doing is crawling under my bed."

"You're of great value, Sansa. A highborn lady. A _woman_. You can't _fight_. But you _can_ hide. So that is what you will do, do you hear me?"

Sansa nodded.

"Tywin Lannister got hit by an arrow and Jaime's still out there fighting, I believe. If Tywin dies, the Lannister forces will most probably yield. But Jaime will refuse to accept their defeat. Neither will Cersei."

"I wouldn't expect it otherwise." Sansa said.

"Margaery was in the safe room with the queen and the princess and the other ladies at the start of the battle. But after a while, she disappeared. Before I slipped away, the queen heard of the Tyrell's betrayal, and she broke every glass in the room and ordered Illyn Payne to find Margaery and kill her."

Sansa was worried. She didn't understand Margaery. The girl was always ten steps ahead of her. But she had played the game like a master and was now getting hunted for it. "I'll pray for her safety."

"Don't waste your time praying for others. Pray for the gods to guide the Starks. That's all you need." Shae rose. "I have to leave, now. Promise me you'll stay safe and alert, Sansa. You're far too worthy to be taken into hostile hands right now. Don't trust anyone."

"I promise. Please be careful, as well." She hadn't failed to notice some blood stains of Shae's dress, wondering if her kill might alert somebody. "Please."

Shae just smiled, put her ear to the door and slipped out when she was sure no one was there. Sansa was all alone now. Again.

* * *

After a while, Sansa decided she couldn't stand the seclusion any longer. She needed to breathe. The balcony was far too dangerous, so she decided to quickly slip into the deserted hallway. She had been hidden here for so long, it was improbable anyone would find her here. She needed to see the courtyard, to see the sky. To make it seem like a normal day.

Her guts were telling her no but she did it anyways. She hid her face with the hood of her cloak and slipped out the door.

The air was dusty and muffled and the evening lights colored the sky. The mist had finally cleared. It was like the sun wanted to be there, to witness the battle. Sansa heard distant battle noises as she approached the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. A man screaming in agony. Swords cutting off limbs. Last breaths being drawn.

Sansa shook her head. _Stop imagining horrors._ She turned her face to the sky and pretended she was in Winterfell. The evening or morning sky had a habit of making the snow glow like a blanket of glistering diamonds. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was way up north, with the sound of her siblings giggling and the wolves howling warming her up.

But she wasn't in Winterfell. It wasn't cold enough. She was in stinky King's Landing.

Her eyes opened and she let a tear for the ones she'd lost. Her father, her little brothers, even her sister. Lady as well. It would never be the same again. _Robb has to live. Please, gods, let him live._

She sank down on her knees and let her head rest on her arms, laid out on the fountain's stone basin.

She wanted to close her eyes so badly, her body was begging her too. But she knew her fight tonight required a different kind of courage.

Her eyes snapped open when she heard steps coming her way. Metal clinging against metal. A man. More than one.

In panic, she jumped up, looking for some place to hide. But they were closer than she had thought and before she could even move, two bloody soldiers appeared from a hallway.

Sansa froze and they did too. _Did they see me?_ she wondered. _Of course they did, you fool! They're staring right at you!_ The men's eyes were wide, reading her face. There was something familiar about them. Gold cloaks. She recognized their faces. How else could they know who she was? They proceeded to let their eyes wander when the broad one started a malicious grin and the bearded other took out a dagger.

"Look at the prize we've just won." said the bearded man. "Sansa fucking Stark."

Her muscles finally untightened and she attempted a sprint towards the door. The broad soldier was faster than expected and grabbed her by the waist. "I believe she's the king's prize!" He threw her over his shoulder and walked back towards the middle of the courtyard. He threw her back onto the floor and the bearded man laughed and put the dagger to her throat.

"But we're dead men anyways. How 'bout we get a taste of the Kingslayer's bitch, first?" The one to have carried her let his hands roam over her body freely. Sansa started crying and kicking her feet around. He grunted and pushed her legs down. "The king might just wish to enter you, my lady. If that's the case, we'll make the entrance easier. And then," he said, approaching her face. "he'll kill you and hang your body at the palace gates." His breath stank and she turned her face away from him. But the man holding the dagger to her throat grabbed her chin and made her face look upwards.

"Don't look away, _princess_." he said mockingly. "Don't be a bloody weakling."

They both laughed and Sansa desperately spit in her aggressor's face in defiance. Their laughs died. The broad man wiped his face clean and licked the spit on his lips before smiling a disgusting yellow smile. "Maybe we'll make you lick something too."

His hands moved to lift her nightgown as the other one held her arms down. It just felt like she didn't deserve this again. Sansa desperately wanted to scream, but she couldn't. It could alert others. Her tears blurred her vision as she let in to her instincts.

"No! Please, no!" she screeched. "Stop! Don't touch me! No! Wait, wait! I'll protect you! I'll protect you from the northerners!"  
The man's hands froze. He stared at her. "What?"

Sansa saw her chance. She saw it and took it. _Barter. Barter like you've never bartered before._ "My brother's winning. You'll die." Sansa had no idea what she was saying. _Doesn't matter what you see or how truthful it is. Sound convincing._ " If you get your hands off me and protect me, I'll protect you as well. On my word. On my word as a princess."

The broad soldier removed his weight from her and muttered something. There was a sudden hopeful look in his eyes as he searched for the bearded man's approval. He nodded.

"You'll stand for our lives if the city is taken?"

"I swear it. On my honor." Sansa's voice was trembling. "Now get your hands off me."

The bearded man let her arms free and helped her to her feet. "My princess."

* * *

Sansa was hiding behind the bed and the two soldiers were at her side. She heard the fighting in the hallway. Voices screaming, swords clashing. _This is it. Win or lose, this is it._ She was breathing fast and her heartbeat had never been more deafening. She felt a drop of sweat fall on her forehead at the same time she felt a chill go down her spine. Her arms tightened their grip around her knees and she tried to make herself as little as she could. Like a little baby, innocent to the world, hiding in his mother's safe belly.

The soldiers had pushed the closet against the door and the men behind it were pounding against it. Sansa shuddered at the sound and the men at her side gripped their swords tightly. The pounding continued and then swords cut into the door. Sansa grabbed Tobias' dagger and put it in her lap.

Pound, cut, pound, cut. She could see the closet slowly weakening. _Don't, don't, don't._

Suddenly, the door burst open. Men in the bloodiest armors she had ever seen entered the room and looked around when their eyes fell on what was hiding behind the bed. Sansa held her breath in fear. Their armors were too bloody to see which side they were on. Their faces too smudged to be recognized.

"We have a woman here!" One of the men shouted. "A woman and two cowards."

The two guarding her rose and drew their swords. Other men burst inside the room and one was taller than most as he pushed them aside. He looked at Sansa and she looked right back at him.

"My lady. The king awaits you."


	18. After a storm comes a calm

Sansa froze. _What did he just say?_ She clumsily rose to her feet and smoothed out her nightgown as she let the hood of her cloak down and revealed her red hair. Some of the men at the door gasped and started whispering as Sansa approached the tallest one with the fierce beard.

Lord Greatjon Umber. A face she had regularly seen in Winterfell years ago. She wanted to run into his arms and cry as all the tensed emotions left her body, but that was not a lady's way. So she attempted to redeem herself as she tried to hold back the tears and gracefully walked towards them while lord Umber nodded to her. It looked like a small yet respectful bow and the soldiers around him followed his lead.

"It's good to see you, lady Stark."

She noticed how he called her Stark, ignoring her marriage to Jaime. She took the arm he extended and gripped it rather tightly as she prepared to let them lead her to the king.

"What should be done of the Lannister dogs?" asked one of the soldiers with a thick northern accent.

Lord Umber looked at her. They all looked at her. _They're asking me,_ Sansa realized. So she looked back to the two men, who had let their hands roam freely around her body as well as they had attempted to protect her from harm. They looked both scared and hopeful. Confident she'd keep her word.

"Kill them." she said with a trembling voice.

Two Stark men drew their swords and walked towards the two cowards.

"My lady! My princess! We protected you!" they protested.

They were forced to their knees as the two northerners rested their blade's cold metal against the back of their neck, waiting for orders.

"You promised, my princess! You swore on your honour!" they shouted.

Sansa stared at them blankly. She failed to feel any sort of regret. All she could see when she looked into their eyes was ' _maybe we'll make you lick something too'._ They had tried to _touch_ her. To violate her body. No man would ever take such liberties with her ever again.

"I didn't swear as a Stark. Winter is in my blood and the North remembers."

Sansa could hear approving whispers behind her. It made her feel strong. Like a true Stark.

"Have mercy, please…" they started pleading with tears in their eyes.

"Had it not been for my proposition, you would have violated a lady's honour and betrayed her to the False King."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw other northerners draw their swords in disgust and lord Umber grumble as he raised his enormous sword.

"Let me cut their throats, my lady! For your honour!" she heard one say, as the other shouted in approval. _Honour, honour, honour._ She was tired of the word. What on earth did it even mean anyway? She put her hand on lord Umber's drawn sword and lowered it whilst trying to ignore the sticky substance on it. They all followed and a silence befell them. She turned to her aggressors again.

"Every breath you'd draw around my presence is a reminder of where your hands have been. An insult." Her voice was trembling and full of hateful emotion. She felt her tears begging to fall, but she kept them at bay. Sansa looked at the Stark men with their swords on their necks and nodded. "I sentence you to die."

The sight of the swords cutting their heads off in one blatant movement barely affected her. But the sound of their heads rolling over the floor made her look away. As little as she could bear to look at them alive, it was almost harder to look at them dead. _It is done. They are gone._ She didn't feel relief nor remorse. She felt numb. It was all too much.

Sansa took lord Umber's arm and the group of northerners escorted her to the throne room.

The darkness of the night had come and the dusty air had cooled down. Sansa almost slipped in a pool of blood and tried to ignore the couple of heads and arms without bodies. They had supported the False King and blood was the price the gods had made them pay for it.

Every time she saw a gold cloak, her heart skipped a beat, hoping she wouldn't recognize that one. Lannister soldiers asking for mercy were being lined up and disarmed and their hands tied. Sansa saw Tyrell men discuss their fates with Stark ones. Every time she passed soldiers, they dropped whatever they were doing and stared at her in astonishment. It made Sansa feel both uncomfortable and powerful. Most of all, their light eyes and fierce beards made her feel like home.

* * *

When lord Umber and the others led her into the throne room, Sansa's heart stopped at the sight of dark reddish curls. She froze and her feet were unable to move. _What if he's changed?_ she nervously wondered. _What if he's not the Robb I know?_

There was blood in his hair, but his curls were unmistakably his. They were slightly longer, and his beard had grown a bit. He was much taller than when she had left him. His dirty armor protected his broad shoulders and the unmistakable sight of a Stark sigil left her to shiver. He was talking to a couple of his men, giving orders like a king. His face was harder; he didn't look like a boy anymore. But when he turned his head and his blue eyes found her identical ones, he looked like her brother again.

Sansa forgot everything she had ever been taught as she ran towards him on her bare feet. His strong arms lifted her from the ground and spun her, making her feel a breeze between her toes. His left hand gently stroked her hair. He slowly came to a stop, and held her tightly, right there, inches above the floor, as her arms cramped around his neck. She let her tears flow freely and inhaled the smell of the war that he had endured.

"I've got you." he murmured. " _Sister_."

Sansa exhaled happily. "You've come for me." Her tears were now tears of joy.

"I won't ever let you go again, I swear it, Sansa. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" Robb whispered guiltily.

 _It wouldn't look good if the new king cried on his first day,_ Sansa suddenly thought, so she reluctantly broke the embrace. He gently let her fall to her feet and she wiped his tears and the dirt with her thumbs as she smiled at him. His skin was a little coarse, not as soft as she remembered.

"Where's mother?" she asked.

"I left her at our camp with a dozen men in protection. I've already sent for her, she'll be here in the morrow. She's been longing to see you, it broke her heart to lose you. Not only you…" he trailed off, looking in the distance.

Sansa smiled, trying to make him more cheerful and push her father and sister's memory away. "What matters is that you're here now. Both of you. I've missed you terribly!"

Robb pulled her back in for an embrace and kissed her forehead. He then slightly pushed her away. "Look at you!" he said, observing her. "Where's the young girl I remember? You've grown so much!"

Sansa saw his expression change at the sight of blood on her nightgown and chuckled to make it go away. "You're one to talk!"  
She gave his shoulder a playful nudge, but his face revealed that she shouldn't have. His hand searched for his shoulder in suppressed agony.

"What's wrong, Robb?" she said, worry clouding her voice.

"It's nothing…" he said weakly. "Just a scratch."

Sansa turned to some men and ordered them to find the maester.

"There are more important things-" Robb tried, but Sansa cut him off.

"Than the health of the king? I doubt it." Blood appeared through the cracks of his armour and Sansa rushed Stark men to bring him to the maester instead.

As they left in a hurry, Sansa hoped the gods wouldn't be so cruel as to kill a king right after his conquest. _The gods have no mercy, that's why they're gods._ But she refused to let Cersei be right yet again.

Sansa felt watched and turned around. Fierce yellow eyes were observing her. He was twice the size she remembered Lady to be. He was trailing around the throne room, weary of all the new smells and sounds and faces. The people he got close to tried to conceal their panic as he sniffed them, sometimes with a threatening grunt revealing his teeth, still stained with the blood of enemies. The Stark men accustomed to him laughed at the scared southerners.  
But when Grey Wind approached Sansa in the silencing room, there was no question he knew exactly who she was. His eyes pierced through hers and calmed her. She scooched down a little to be on his level. Her hand went to his face and he rubbed his nose against her fingers, remembering her smell.

After a while, she got up and everyone started talking again, as if they had not been watching her in amazement.

"He must think of you as family. No one other than your brother gets to touch him." she heard a familiar voice say.

Sansa turned to the lords conversing that she remembered from Winterfell and where the comment had come from. "Lord Manderly. It is good to see you all again. Lord Umber. Lord Glover. Lord Bolton. Uncles Edmure and Bryden." she said with a graceful smile as they bowed for her. She saved a brighter, honest one for her uncle. Even though she scarcely remembered him, he was her blood. _Family, duty, honor. Family first._

"My lady, it's a pleasure to see you again. We're glad to see you safe and sound." said lord Bolton.

"Have we suffered any notable losses?" Sansa asked.

The lords looked surprised at her demand. A woman talking war. It took them a while to respond. "Lord Ryder and lord Flint are no longer with us."

"My condolences. And the Lannisters?"

"Lords Tyrion and Jaime are in the dungeons, as well as Cersei Lannister and her children." declared lord Glover. Sansa tried to look as unmoved as ever when they said Jaime's name. _He's alive._ "And lord Tywin has died. Succumbed to some injury."

When the words reached her ears, Sansa's eyes crossed Littlefinger's. He was far across the throne room, observing her. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, suddenly feeling extremely exposed in her dirty nightgown and thin cloak. Only then she realized she didn't look like a lady at all, let alone a princess. Yet no one had doubted her. _Yet._

"When word of his death spread at the fall of night, the last resistance yielded." explained uncle Edmure.

"That's understandable, considering their allies turned on them."

Lord Manderly nodded at her comment. "The Tyrells have stunned us all with their prompt change in allegiance." He looked over at ser Loras and his father wearily. "There's a reason we shouldn't trust southerners."

Lord Glover disagreed. "They fought by our side. They deserve trust now. They're our allies!"

The lords started an argument Sansa had no wish to attend. She graciously slipped away, wanting to talk to the Tyrells, but Littlefinger suddenly found himself in her path.

"My princess." he said, bowing his head with a mysterious smirk. "I want to congratulate you on your victory."

"The victory is not mine." stated Sansa. "My brother won the city."

"You and him share the same blood and the same purpose, even though you have been claimed by another in front of the gods…" he said, purposely doubtful.

"Lord Tywin died today." Sansa said to change the subject and confirm her suspicions.

"Indeed, he did." confirmed Baelish, feigning some sort of regret. "The old man had lived far too long to survive this as well."

"It's _strange_." said Sansa, eyeing him for any sort of change in body language. "He has a tendency to survive wars."

Littlefinger smiled maliciously. He knew what she was up to. "Survival and victory go hand in hand. This one, he lost. Does it matter which way he goes?"

Sansa smiled, playing his game but trying to bend it her way. "It does if it prompts an army to lay down their swords and concede. Tell me, was the great lord Tywin really defeated by one little arrow?"

"If you want to know secrets, it's lord Varys you should ask, my lady."

"I want to know the truth."

"Then what are you doing here?" said Baelish, laughing, and then turning to serious again. "An infection killed the poor man."

Sansa observed him for a while and bluntly blurted out what she thought. "You poisoned him. Whatever you had someone pour into his mouth or his wound, killed him."

Littlefinger stared right back at her, revealing nothing.

 _He did it. I'm sure of it,_ thought Sansa. "Why would a loyal servant of the throne do such a thing?" she inquired.

Lord Baelish grinned and bowed. He then took his leave, making her stupefaction linger.

* * *

After a restless night's sleep for probably the entire court, Sansa woke up quickly. Men had been posted at the door of her old room for her safety and she had undressed herself on her own the night before. The palace was chaotic; the dead were being assembled, the halls cleaned and the missing identified.

She rapidly stumbled out of her bed and made herself presentable for court. She wore the simplest dress she could manage and the simple hairstyle she was accustomed to. She desperately wanted a bath, but no one was there to help her. There were more important matters to attend to anyways.

Sansa burst out the door but quickly redeemed herself with a gracious smile. The men at her door had probably rather went whoring and drinking with many others, but they smiled respectfully.

"Bring me to my brother."

Sansa thanked all the gods that she knew when she saw Robb was well. They had put him in a bed in a random empty chamber, his wounds were being attended to carefully.

"How are you feeling?" asked Sansa with a soft smile while she sat on the side of his bed.

"Fine. The wound wasn't very deep and the arrowhead was easily retrieved. I just needed a good night's sleep."

Sansa inspected him. He had bandages on his left shoulder, but there was barely any blood leaking through. The wound had to be large, because the bandages went all the way from his shoulder to his ear. He had a couple of scars across his chest. There was only one she knew of: a faint one on his ribcage caused by a fall from a horse onto a sharp stone when he was 8. Several others were all new. To her taste, he was too young to have so many scars.

"You've fought a lot."

Robb looked down at his scars and chuckled. "As you can see, I've had worse than this one."

"Some think you're immortal."

Robb just laughed again. He seemed to be in a good mood. "Those things are only said by people who never met me."

"You'll be sung of, someday." Sansa said. "You'll be immortal to all of them."

"Unless I die tomorrow, of course."

"Don't say those things." Sansa snapped. "I prayed for your life every day."

Robb opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the door opening.

"Lady Catelyn Stark has just arrived in the city."

Robb hopped out of bed as if it was nothing, ignoring Sansa's protests. "I've seen men fight with one hand. I've seen men cut down a handful of enemies with numerous arrows in their chests. Surely I can walk around with a dull wound that's been tended to already."

* * *

As the doors of the vacant small council room opened, Sansa only needed a glimpse of her mother in order to break down just a little. It wasn't the same with Robb; joy and anticipation had spread through her as soon as she had seen him. But when she looked at her mother's tired and worried face, she saw the losses they had both suffered reflected in her face.

They both had walked faster than any lady ever should and embraced each other midways, in the center of the room. Catelyn soothed her weeps, but Sansa wondered if maybe her mother needed soothing more than she did.

"My daughter, my darling girl… The gods have given you back to me." her mother sobbed in her hair.

Sansa's arms held her mother tightly, like a little scared girl who had just run to her mother's arms, looking for the safety of a mother's womb that will never be equaled again.

"I've missed you terribly, mother," whispered Sansa as well. She pulled back. _I should stop crying in public now,_ Sansa reminded herself.

"You're almost a woman now," Catelyn said, smiling with wet eyes. "I hardly recognize you. So beautiful."

"You haven't changed a bit," laughed Sansa, but they both knew it wasn't true. Her mother had aged in those few years, grey streaks spreading in her red hair and wrinkles around her tired eyes. Even though she was still undeniably beautiful, loss had taken its toll on her.

Catelyn then turned to Robb, embracing him. She looked relieved at the sight of her lively son. "You've done well. I'm so proud of you."

She ordered the guards to leave the room and turned to her son.

"Robb, listen to me." Catelyn's voice had turned to the pure seriousness of politics. She placed her hand on his arm and made him look at her. "The city is mourning its deaths right now, but if no king is crowned, chaos will reign supreme. You've taken the city and defeated the king. They all look to you, now."

Robb shrugged his mother's hand of his arm and walked towards a window, looking outside. "I'm the King in the North." His voice was unsure.

"And now you must be the King of all the Seven Kingdoms. It is your duty."

He sighed. "How can I be the King of the Seven Kingdoms if my own kingdom was taken from me? What's a king without a kingdom?"

Catelyn tried to make him reason. "Robb, that doesn't matter anymore."

"It does. I can't even rule one kingdom, how do you expect me to rule seven of them? I didn't want this, mother. You know I never did. Power is not something I want." Robb seemed disappointed in himself, ashamed even. Had he not had an army, he would've been a laughing stock for losing the North to the Greyjoys. To _Theon_.

"You must take the throne, Robb." interfered Sansa. "You can't just kill the king and leave. What's that for a conquest?"

Robb knew it would be foolish. They all did. But he couldn't bear to face the reality of it. "I haven't killed Joffrey yet."

"I once told him you might give me his head."

Robb turned to Sansa, trying to see if the proper lady he once knew was joking. Her face was hard.

"Are you going to disappoint your sister?"

Robb grinned at his sister's bold words and put his arm around her shoulders. "Never."

Catelyn looked for his attention again and went to stand in front of him. "It is imperative you claim the throne today, Robb. Your army has taken the city, your men are patrolling the streets. King's Landing is in your hands right now. Don't let it slip out of them."

"It's not that simple. I claimed northern independence. Now I must join the kingdoms once more?"

"A strong, united realm is what we need to survive the winter. Even the northerners know that, even if they're too proud to admit it. With a Stark king on the throne, it might just work."

Robb laughed bitterly. "Come on, mother. _United_? The Tyrells crave power, the Lannisters are hated and the Dornish still didn't swallow Robert Baratheon's victory over the Targaryens. The Stormlands are divided and disordered with the three Baratheon brothers dead, now. United is the last thing we are." He looked almost sad as he looked over the city, watching over the people who were inevitably under his protection now. The Targaryens were dead and the Baratheons were as well. Everybody knew Robb's duty was to take the throne. Even he did. It was just a matter of time before he would accept his fate.

"We must start somewhere, my son. You know it."

He stared at the view past King's Landing, squinting his eyes to see as far up north as he possibly could. The North he might never see again. Robb sighed. "I'll try to pick up the broken pieces and make us whole again."

* * *

 **HOW DID Y'ALL LIKE THAT? :)**  
 **Have I made some readers happy?**  
 **I've been waiting for this moment for sooo long so I hope I didn't dissapoint your (and my) expectations!**  
 **Okay so from now on things are clearly going to change and I've got a bunch of ideas!**  
 **In order to do so, I would like to start switching POV. I think It'd be interesting to see how different people react to a new king because I've got a story line planned out for them. I hope you guys don't mind if I broaden the horizon a bit by not always using Sansa's POV (she's still the main character though, don't worry). What do you think?  
And pleaaase review and give me feedback on the chapter!**


	19. Long may he reign

**Okay so I'm sooo sorry for the time this took, but I kinda broke my computer last week so it's not my fault (well maybe it is). Anyways, I'm back and eager to take this story further and elaborate the storyline. Sorry this chapter is short, but I prefered to post it immediately instead of making you wait for a longer version. Please review, I want to know what you guys think and thanks for reading!**

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"May the Father grant him justice, and make his righteousness prevail. May the Mother's mercy influence his journey, and thus make forgiveness his way. May the Maiden's innocence inspire his heart and keep him pure. May the Warrior grant him courage, and protect him in these perilous times. May the Smith grant him strength, so he might bear this heavy burden. May the Crone, she that nurse the faith of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him to the dark places that lie ahead.

In the light of the Seven I now proclaim, Robb of the House Stark, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The High Septon placed Robb's copper, northern crown upon his red curls and loudly uttered the words: "Long may he reign."

The crowd repeated the Septon's words seven times as Robb looked ahead, at his people. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his heartbeat. _Bravery only comes with fear,_ father used to say. It was time for him to be brave.

As the crowd erupted in applause, Robb sat down on the cold seat carefully. This seat was meant for kings. Meant for conquerors. He was both now.

Sansa's lip went up in a discreet smile of satisfaction and pride. She had waited so long for this. For Robb to come for her and avenge her father's murder. And there he was, sitting on Joffrey's throne as if he was born to it. He appeared calm and composed, deserving of both love and fear. Sansa knew her brother was nervous, as from the close range she was in, the very front row, next to her mother and Robb's northern bannermen, she noticed his trembling fingers, gripping down the armchairs. Somehow, the most powerful position in Westeros managed to be the most dangerous one. He was well aware of it. Many kings had come and gone in the last years. But Robb Stark knew it probably better than anyone; a man made king by his banners, can be unmade just as easy. It was his duty now, to find allies and loyal friends and ensure his reign.

The court proceeded to stand in some sort of line in order to give him their best wishes and swear fealty to their new king. It had been a rushed ceremony, but a success nonetheless.

As Robb's sister, tradition did not require Sansa to do the same. So she stood with her mother on the elevated platform of the throne, slightly behind Robb, smiling gracefully at the people who had never cared for her before. Now they all took their time to smile, curtsy and bow to the two Stark women they had called traitors just days ago. As little as she cared to admit, Sansa enjoyed the new taste of power. She suddenly commanded respect and admiration from the entire court, as they called her 'my princess' or 'your highness'. When Sansa was little, she had dreamt of being called that way at King's Landing. Until Joffrey. Now, she cared little for the prestige, but she felt a sense of justice to it.

As The Tyrells proceeded to publicly declare fealty to Robb again, Sansa couldn't help but notice Margaery bow slightly deeper than required, exposing her cleavage, lingering only a second longer than usual. Smiling softly and gently throwing her brown curls over her shoulders. She was enchanting in a soft green gown. She didn't look like a traitor at all. Sansa couldn't see Robb's reaction to her, but her mother was inspecting Margaery rather carefully as well.

After a few exchanged words with lady Onella, Margaery proceeded to approach Sansa and Catelyn as well.

"Lady Stark." Margaery smiled at Sansa's mother and she smiled back.

"Lady Margaery. Lovely to see you again. King's Landing's halls suit you much better than Renly's war camp."

"A war camp is no place for a lady." Margaery chuckled cheerfully. "But I had all I needed."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Renly was a gallant and gentle man."

Margaery smiled gratefully. "I thank you. And I am truly sorry for your losses as well, my lady."

Catelyn smiled bitterly, reminded again of who wasn't there to share this moment with her. Her son was crowned king, after all. Ned, Arya, Bran and Rickon would've all wanted to see it. But they were all gone.

"And you, Sansa, my dearest friend." Margaery took Sansa's hand and placed it in between hers. "I'm so happy you are safe and well. The battle was a frightful one."

"It must have been just as frightening for you. I can't imagine queen Cersei was-"

"She's no queen." Margaery interrupted. "She's a prisoner and a traitor and I'm so glad you are finally out of her cruel hands."

Catelyn looked over at Sansa, to try and read her face. Sansa had told her little of her time here, there was still so much left to say.

"The Starks thank the Tyrells for their support during the battle." Catelyn declared. "It must've been a difficult decision."

"Oh, I had little part in it, my lady. But my father and brother thought about it for a long time. They made the choice they deemed right and I am so glad for it. We have been freed of our false and vicious king."

"Yet you were to be his wife, were you not?" Catelyn's tone had slightly changed, trying to understand Margaery's motives.

Margaery was well aware of the minefield placed in front of her and carefully chose her words. "Everyone knows a lady has little choice in the matter of her marriage suitors. I was betrothed to Joffrey, a man my father thought to be brave and kind. When the truth came out, it was too late. Us women must always make the best of our circumstances, do we not? My family chose my safety over my position, and I am glad for it. We are proud of our fealty to the Starks."

Catelyn smiled, satisfied with Margaery's calculated answer. The young girl curtsied and left.

"What were you doing, mother? Margaery is my friend."

"I was merely testing the girl. The Tyrells' motives have to be clear. And that girl is not near as powerless as she claims to be."

"She's a clever one." Sansa confirmed. "She tried to arrange my marriage to Loras, in order to escape from Joffrey."

"Or in order to secure the North."

Sansa was hurt and turned to her mother's hard face matching the hard truth. She did not understand. When had her mother turned so politically _aware_?

"My dear girl, listen to me. I have no doubt in my heart that Margaery cares for you as a friend. But she's a Tyrell, and my father always reminded me that the Tyrells intend to _grow strong_. She has mastered the art of court, schemes and intrigue. Everyone's motives should always be questioned. Remember that, Sansa."

Sansa listened to her mother's expertise as if she had been in the South for years. But her mother was from the Riverlands, not from the North. Political mind games are uncommon up North, and Robb had not been raised to handle those.

Suddenly, Sansa's hard realization hit her. "How on earth will Robb survive King's Landing?"

Catelyn grabbed her hand. "You must help him. I must help him. We need to shield his back, or else he's irreversibly lost."

Sansa knew King's Landing. She had been a pawn for a long time, snapping out of that role occasionally. Her head had had to be kept low and her voice silent to stay alive. But people like Cersei, Margaery and Littlefinger had had more effect on her than she cared to admit. It was the dawn of a new era, an era of hope hanging on a very thin thread. It was time for her to truly play the game as well, and protect her brother at all costs.

"Long may he reign," she whispered.


	20. The black cells

**Hello there! I'm so sorry it's been taking a while lately, but I promise that I'm not losing this story out of sight at all. I've got a bunch of ideas! I will be mixing up the POV characters soon, it could be difficult for me to switch that up, so bear with me! So this is a part I've figured you might be waiting for so here it is! I very much appreciate you guys reading and saying what you think, PLEASE review! :)**

* * *

"I want to see the prisoners." Sansa stated. She tried to stand as tall as possible, but her dress felt uncomfortable. Her mother had had it made the northern style; it was grey with blue accents, and a thicker fabric than what Sansa had gotten used to. The sleeves were too heavy and the neckline too high. Sansa wasn't looking forward to talking to her mother about it, scared that she might think Sansa had turned all southern.

"We have specific orders." said the guard with a red beard and a thick northern accent.

The 10 guards were standing at the entrance of the dungeons, the Traitor's Walk. It was heavily protected, considering its valuable prisoners. Sansa tried to ignore the heads on spikes, remembering the last time she had seen such horrors.

"Don't you answer to me?" Her tone got more demanding. She had to make herself obeyed.

"I do, my princess. But the king has an even higher authority."

"Did the king tell you to deny access to his sister?"

"No."

"Well, then?" Sansa tried to pass through them, but two guards moved in front of her.

"I'm sorry, your highness. But it could be dangerous."

"You think the _imp_ will choke me? Or maybe sweet Myrcella? Let's consider Tommen, while we're at it."

The guards had nothing to say, but didn't move. They avoided her gaze.

"Come with me then!" she said, irritated.

They finally gave in and 3 guards escorted her inside. The dungeons were dark and humid, giving her chills. Many rumours went about this place. They said the first floor was for common criminals, the second for highborn prisoners, the third for valuable and dangerous ones and the fourth… The fourth was one for the legends. Truth be told, Sansa did not wish to know what went on in the fourth.

As they descended the narrow stairs to the black cells, the stench got worse and the air got cold. The thought of Joffrey, Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion and poor Myrcella and Tommen in here almost made Sansa pitiful. When they reached the third floor, the guards led her to a narrow corridor with only a couple of torches to see where to go. The doors were thick and heavy, studded with iron. There were 3 more guards guarding those specific doors.

"Which prisoner would you like to visit, princess?" asked one of them.

His voice echoed and made chills go up Sansa's spine. _Is this even a good idea,_ Sansa wondered. She didn't even know what she wanted to say, or to whom.

"Myrcella," she said. Her voice was shaking. "Myrcella and Tommen deserve cells on the second floor. Move them there immediately."

"What?"

"Those are sweet, innocent children. Their kin's crimes are not theirs. They don't deserve to be chained in stinky, dark and cold cells."

"But-"

Sansa looked up at the guard responding and stared straight into his eyes. "Do as I say."

They were in no position to argue and did as they were told. One of them opened a door and came out with a boy that had once been a prince. His doublet had blood on it and so did his hair. He looked bewildered, afraid, confused. Not himself. Tommen found her eyes and his look was full of relief and doubt. Sansa gently smiled at him.

Another guard opened the door right next to it and pulled out the weak body of Myrcella. She looked half asleep and screamed at the sight of him. Her dress was torn and her gold jewels looked like plain bronze ones. Her hair was a dirty mess of her once so golden locks.

"Please! Please, don't!" she yelped. She looked panicked, not even understanding what was going on. "Don't take me to the fourth! Please, I beg of you!" She went on screaming in a total panic attack, not listening to the guards telling her she wasn't going to be tortured. One of them suddenly approached her, pushed the guard holding her arm away, and slapped her right across the face.

A stunned silence over took the narrow hallway. They looked at Sansa, to see how she'd react.

She stepped towards Myrcella and put her hands on the girl's dirty cheeks. Myrcella's green eyes were big and wet, her breathing hurried and dry. She stared at Sansa in shock, not saying a word. Tears rolled over her cheeks in silence and Sansa pulled her in for an embrace.

They stood there for a while, all staring at the princess taking the former princess into her arms. Myrcella's hands clung to Sansa's dress and her head rested on her shoulder. Sansa rubbed over her back for comfort and stepped away. Myrcella then noticed her brother and took him in for a hurried embrace before two guards took them away, to lighter, warmer and bigger cells.

Sansa's eyes filled up with water and she rested her head against the cold stone wall, closing her heavy eyes and calming her breath.

"I'm afraid Joffrey's off limits, my princess." said one of the guards, unsure.

"I have no desire to see Joffrey. Take me to my husband." It was the first time she'd said it out loud since the victory and it made her uncomfortable, as if she was betraying her family. But it was the simple truth and the guards uneasily shifted on their feet, exchanging looks.

The awkwardness was too hard to bear. "I don't have all day." Sansa snapped.

One of the guards finally opened the door to a cell and Sansa walked towards it. She was almost afraid to step inside. Afraid of who she'd see. Or rather, _what_. The cell had no window whatsoever, it held true to its name. Two guards moved to stand right behind her, holding torches. It lit up the inside of the cell, and Sansa saw a dark silhouette curled up in a corner.  
She put a foot inside and motioned with her hand that the guards were not to follow her. The straw on the floor cracked under her feet and she looked back, making sure they held the door open. She crouched down on the floor, her eyes adjusting to the dark. She held her hand out to Jaime's darkened face and his right hand snapped up, grabbing her wrist.

Sansa shrieked at the sudden movement. She heard a guard enter the cell, but told them to stay outside.

Jaime's face turned towards hers, and the torches lit up his green eyes. His face was full of dirt and cuts, and his hand was rough. It reminded her of when that hand had struck her.

"Let go." Sansa demanded, trying to not make the fear apparent in her voice.

He lingered for a while, staring right into her eyes. He then loosened his grip and let his hand fall back in his lap. "You _scared_ of me, wife?"

"You're not exactly in a position to make threats." she stated with a shaky voice. The echo was strange and made her very aware of the sound of what she said.

He laughed a harsh, bitter and dry laugh that didn't sound like his. "You here to _comfort_ me then, my love?" He was mocking her like the old Jaime would've. He was trying to seem in control, stronger than what he was. It only made Sansa pity him more. "Has my last day come? Or night? Can't really tell the difference, I fear. The stench of my own shit makes it hard to think."

Sansa just stared at him, not answering. It irritated him.

"I should've told Joffrey about you when I had the chance." he grumbled. "He had big plans for you."

"You think that would've changed the outcome?" she asked with a derisive look.

This time, he was the one not to answer.

"You lost." she stated. She tasted the word, slightly enjoying the fact.

"How observant of you, dear wife."

"Sansa." she snapped. "I'm Sansa." She was tired of him pretending she was his property.

"Your brother's victory doesn't make you any less my wife. You are mine until your last day." he reminded her. "Already forgot your vows?"

Sansa's hard eyes tried very hard to find the man who had agreed not to touch her, who had agreed not to tell Joffrey of her whereabouts. "Maybe you forgot yours first, dear husband. I wasn't supposed to _share_ you."

Jaime's eyes turned soft, weak. He had given up his façade. "I never chose to love her." It was barely louder than a whisper.

 _I know,_ she wanted to stay. The words stuck in her throat. She couldn't help but hate him for it. For loving Cersei. For fathering _Joffrey_. For betraying her father. For whatever he let his family do to Bran. It was hard to remember why she'd had once felt even just a little bit lucky he was her husband. "You're an oathbreaker." she whispered, eyes staring into the distance. "A Kingslayer."

He flinched at the word the way she knew he would. He looked away from her; she was too bright, in her noble attires and her red hair shining in the torches' light. She looked like everything they'd lost. It almost made him hate her as well.

"I didn't… You don't know." Jaime whispered with a broken voice. His eyes wandered off to the distance as she tried to read his expressions. "He… He was going to burn them all."

"Who?" Sansa asked, confused.

"The Mad King." he whispered, his sudden big eyes clashing into hers. "First, he wanted me to bring him my father's head. Then, he wanted us to burn the entire city. And everyone in it. Every single traitor."

Sansa stayed silent, processing what he said.

"He sure earned his name. Fire was his obsession. Wildfire. So I… I… swung my sword at his neck and every order he might've uttered died with him. Spilled out of him, along with the darkest blood I'd ever seen. Mad, mad he was." He let his head drop and Sansa saw a hint of tears in his eyes. "It's not my fault… It's… I didn't…"

It is at that moment that Sansa understood why the gods hadn't punished Jaime Lannister for the murder of his king. He had punished himself with his own action. Seen as a traitor by the entire realm, called Oathbreaker and Kingslayer. She wondered if he regretted it. The sight of the tears building up in his eyes made her perception of him change. He was such a strong man, but even the strongest men were weak at times.

"I forgive you." Sansa whispered. It just rolled out of her mouth. It was an unforgivable crime, but she forgave him nonetheless.

"What?"

Sansa had no idea why she said it. She was giving him what he needed to hear, but the words didn't feel like a lie either. "I forgive you." she repeated slowly.

She looked at Jaime, looking confused. He didn't understand the feeling. He'd never been forgiven for it before. He hadn't even asked for compassion, but she had granted it to him all the same. So he just smiled, grateful for his wife's mending to his wounds. Why did he have to love such a hateful woman when this one was his by laws of gods and men?

"My princess." One of the guards said. "It's time to go."

Sansa rose.

"When will the executions take place?" asked Jaime.

"The trials." Sansa corrected him. She had no idea, but she knew Robb wouldn't wait long. "Soon."

"Myrcella…" he said. "Myrcella, Tommen, they didn't do anything."

"You needn't worry about them. Robb is not a beast." _He's not Tywin Lannister, ordering the murder of Rhaegar's children,_ she thought, and she knew he thought of the same thing.

"But I do worry. They'll have nothing."

Sansa smiled a sad smile. Maybe she'd take care of them, keep them under her wing. Maybe they'll be sent away. Maybe she wouldn't bear to help Cersei's children. She had no idea.

A guard coughed for her attention and she turned to them. It was time to go.

"Give him a bucket for waste and a bucket of water." Sansa said while stepping out.

The guards looked at each other. It was completely against the way of the black cells. "But-"

"I won't ask twice."

The guards did as they were told and closed the heavy door, confining Jaime to the complete darkness again.

Sansa observed the other doors, wondering who was hidden behind them.

"Do you wish to see another prisoner?"

She thought about it. Did she want to flaunt her victory in front of Cersei? A part of her couldn't help but want to see her covered in her own shit. So she nodded and said the former queen's name.

The guards opened another door, a little further down the hallway. Sansa instantly regretted her choice. Cersei would always be intimidating to her, even stripped of all her glory. She nervously stepped towards the cell as the light of the guards' torches lit up the darkness inside.

Sansa could make out a silhouette rolled up in the corner of the cell, her head leaning on the straw of the floor. Cersei's face snapped up at the noise of the door opening and hid her eyes from the harsh, sudden light.

Sansa took a step inside, but decided not to approach her. She stood tall and proud, looking at the remains of the great Cersei Lannister. Her tangled hair didn't shine and her red eyes made her look insane. Her wrists were bloody because of the chains she was held to. Her bare feet were dirty and brown. She looked at Sansa with an expression of pure hate.

"What are you doing here?" Cersei hissed.

Sansa didn't even know it herself.

"You'll have to drag me to the scaffold!" she yelled defiantly. Cersei Lannister's spirit was broken, but still there. She'd never give up.

Sansa smiled sadly. "I didn't expect it otherwise. But today is not the day you die."

Cersei stared at her. "Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen. They're just children." she whispered.

"Tommen and Myrcella were moved to more comfortable cells. They're not endangered. I can't say the same for Joffrey."

Cersei swallowed. Sansa noticed she was boiling up. "Get out, you ungrateful whore. Traitor! Get out, slut! Get out! Get out! Get out!" she screamed whilst her chains rattled, holding her back.

For the last time in her life, Sansa did as Cersei told her. It was done. The battle was won, the war was over, Cersei and her son were stripped from any power they had over her. As Sansa walked away from the black cells, away from any hold they had on her, she couldn't help but feel victorious. With a quick swing of Robb's sword, it would all be over.


	21. Love me a little

**_Okay guys, so I've finally done another point of view! I'm eager to hear your thoughts about it!  
Also, I'm really sorry abt the time this took, and I'm even more sorry to tell you I'll be leaving for Italy next week and to Germany a while after that (well I'm not so sorry about that) so the next chapter won't be for tomorrow either.  
And I KNOW I ask this all the time but I keep asking and my request keeps being ignored so I BEG of you to review! :) I love reading reviews, it means so much more than just numbers and feels so much more real.  
(Not sure if I'm entirely happy abt this chapter but oh well - I'll see what you think)_**

* * *

 _Myrcella's POV_

The hard bed was uncomfortable, but only a day ago Myrcella had cried in gratitude at the looks of her new cell. It was not near as cold as the ones below and larger and lighter as well. She had spent her day peeking through the small window, trying to see what was going on. There was little use. She could scarcely see anything. The cells weren't high enough to have any sort of view on anything but walls, but she could hear the faint thrusting of the waves against the embankment. Sometimes, she'd lay her head against the wall she knew Tommen was behind, imagining he was doing the same thing. It was silly, but comforting.

Myrcella had only spent a day and night in the cell, but she was bored out of her mind already. The only thing she could do was _think_ , and it made her head want to explode. In the black cells, she had been scared. Fear had taken over the many days and nights – or maybe there weren't that many- but at least it had completely blocked her mind from working. She had constantly felt the threat of the infamous fourth floor, heavy on her shoulders. Northmen were ruthless – they were notorious for their wild behavior. She had half expected them to rape her bloody when they found her, hidden in a heavily guarded room with her brother. They had killed every last one of the guards, many of whom were honorable knights and had clearly refused her mother's request to kill them both in case things went wrong. Cersei hadn't told her, but Myrcella knew from the way she had hugged them both goodbye, after the defence had just heard of the Tyrells's betrayal. Had it been a lost cause since then? Cersei had seemed desperate to hide all of her children, that's for sure.

But the Northerners hadn't hurt Myrcella and Tommen. They had looked almost pitiful. Until they dragged them to the black cells, of course. Tommen had cried and Myrcella's screams had gotten stuck in her throat as they had to walk over dead bodies and separated limbs. It had made her gag.

Myrcella could notice by the shadows that the sun was getting lower already, and her stomach was aching for food. How long would she have to stay there? Would they punish her and Tommen? What if they executed her family without even telling her? Myrcella's mind had run wild with possibilities. But no matter how she turned it, it was blatantly clear that Joffrey and her mother would die soon. She didn't care much for Joffrey; she had made peace with the idea a long time ago. He had always been cruel and vicious, and a terrible brother to her and Tommen. Her mother, on the other hand, was still her mother. Myrcella knew she had done many terrible things, but had always chosen to ignore them. She did not want to know about her mother's crimes. The greatest of all, the incest that had created Myrcella and her brothers.

When the rumours had first started to arise, around Eddard Stark's beheading, Myrcella didn't believe it at all. It seemed so ridiculous to her. Her mother had assured her that it was a lie made up by their enemies, so that's what she had believed. But then she had noticed some things about her mother and uncle Jaime, and had started to doubt. Moreover, not of the three children had inherited anything from the Baratheon side. And Joffrey made things more plausible. _Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin._ Did the gods flip coins with every child born out of incest? If so, Joffrey's coin had fallen on the wrong side.

But even when she had thought of it, she refused to believe it. Only when she was sent to Dorne, she started to slowly accept it. Some things were undeniable, after all. She had been voluntarily blind to all of it but it was like the breath of fresh air had opened her eyes. Never was it said out loud, though. The thought of it had not threatened her. After all, as long as her family held the power, no rumour mattered. She had been so confident that they'd keep it, as they always had. But then, Robb Stark came. And he came much stronger than expected.

Myrcella knew she and Tommen, if saved, would be proclaimed bastards for all to hear. They'd have nothing left. They'd be the lowest of the low. One day a princess, the next a bastard. The fall was enormous. At least she had the promise of Trystane and the Dornish. They couldn't possibly set her aside now? No, she'd go to Dorne, marry Trystane and bring Tommen with her. She'd convince king Robb of it. They'd be out of his hair, and he would accept it, she was sure of it.

A pound on the door grabbed Myrcella out of her thoughts. A guard came in. "We are to escort you away."

Myrcella noticed the absence of a title as he addressed her and it made her flinch. Panic arose in her chest. _Don't scream, don't cry,_ she told herself. "Where are you taking me? And Tommen, what about Tommen?" Her voice was shaky and gave away her fear. Her dignified composure was worthless.

"We are bringing you to your new living quarters. You and your brother."

Myrcella let out a breath. "Where? Why? Who told you to do this?"

Two guards entered and each grabbed an arm. They had a rough touch. "By the king's orders."

The guards said no more and Myrcella was taken out of her cell. She saw a glimpse of Tommen a few steps ahead as well, but had a hard time seeing him because of the tall guards escorting him.

As they walked, Myrcella wondered if they'd send them away. Kick them out of the Red Keep, to live on the street like the bastards they were. Or would they be sent to live with the servants, to work in the stables or the kitchens? Myrcella hoped Robb Stark was as honourable as they said he was. _At least he'll let you live,_ she thought. That was all she could wish for, for now.

After a while she noticed they were heading to the Red Keep. Myrcella looked down to her dress; it was absolutely disgusting. Did she have to walk into the Red Keep dressed like that? It would be total humiliation. She'd even prefer to be brought to the servants' quarters.

Myrcella tried to make herself as small as possible to make herself hard to see through the guards escorting her. Northmen were tall and broad, they'd provide the protection needed. But she only wanted protection from peering eyes and harsh whispers. The fall of the false Baratheon princess was there for all to see. She saw glimpses of the noblemen and women staring and whispering, standing on their toes in an attempt to take a good look at her. Myrcella desperately needed a bath, a meal and a good night's sleep. Her burning cheeks were so apparent she had to bite on her lip to keep down the tears as well. Instead of holding her head high, she cowered in shame in the halls she used to rule.

After only a couple of minutes walking that had felt like forever, Myrcella and her brother were led to two rooms sharing a wall, just like their cells had. Myrcella's room was bare; the walls had only a faint colour, there was no balcony behind the large windows and the bed was not far as lavishly decorated as she was used to. Her room in Sunspear had been twice as big; her room in King's Landing even more. This one looked like a chamber for minor nobles, but Myrcella was grateful to be given a room meant for nobles anyways. Considering her newfound rank, she could've gotten much worse.

The guards left the room without telling her anything. She opened the closet and saw three of her old Lannister-worthy dresses, and four rather plain ones. Myrcella was no fool; she would be mad as to dress like a princess now. She quickly picked one of the new dresses and was happy to notice the bath full of water. She undressed and as she lowered herself into the soothing water, she realized this was the first time she'd ever undressed and bathed without assistance. _The first of many._

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

Robb looked over to the enormous burning pile of dead bodies, assembled in the largest graveyard of the city, as if he was mourning every single one of them. Both Lannister and Stark soldiers had been placed in enormous funeral pyres. When complaints about the unbearable stench in the city had reached the ears of the Red Keep, Robb had decided to add the dead commoners of King's Landing as well. An army of Silent Sisters had prepared the bodies the night and day before. Only the central graveyard was large enough for 7000 dead men, 2100 of which had been fighting for him, Northerners, knights of the Vale and men from the Riverlands, placed one on top of the other.

Robb had insisted on giving them a proper goodbye, to have 3 days of mourning for the dead of the war in King's Landing. Catelyn had been impressed by the idea, saying the people would appreciate his acknowledgement of their losses. But Robb hadn't even thought of it. He had found it the right thing to do; his people had to be given the time to lick their wounds, to mourn their dead before moving on.

The High Septon read passages from the Seven Pointed Stars before the funeral pyres started to burn. There was a big audience of commoners, calmly singing holy songs when the septas started to sing.

Robb hadn't moved there since dawn, since the first funeral pyres. Sansa had been able to sit through a couple of them, next to the king, dressed in black. Her feet were getting itchy and she stood, deciding it was time for her to go.

Robb looked up at her, seemingly tired yet determined. "You're going?"

"Yes, I believe so." Sansa smiled. "You don't have to stay until the end, you know. The people have seen you."

Robb shook his head. "I'm staying. It would be disrespectful to leave the men who won my war for me."

"Most of those bodies were enemies."

"Most of those bodies were working for the enemy. It's not the same. They just happened to be born south of the North."

Sansa took his hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "I'll have the cooks prepare something you like."

Robb smiled gratefully. "Go, now. Mother will be waiting for you."

Do it now, Sansa, this is your window. "Actually… I thought I could visit the West Barracks, where the wounded and injured lie. It could be uplifting for the soldiers' spirits to see the princess, don't you think? I'll express our support to the Maester and healers." Sansa hoped no blush had given away her true intentions. Did it even sound believable? She had no idea.

After a while, Robb nodded. "That is a good idea. But take men with you. They'll carry you there in litter."

Sansa kissed Robb's cheek as a goodbye and departed. She was relieved he hadn't noticed her nervousness. It was time for her to find out whether or not Tobias was still alive.

* * *

Gold cloaks, Lannister, Stark and Tyrell soldiers were all being treated in the entire barrack. Weapons and armors had been moved to the East Barracks temporarily, to make place for the impromptu hospital. They were all lying on thin mattresses and field beds, while healers ran around, tending to their wounds.

After the announcement of her presence, Sansa entered with her six guards. The Grand Maester, quite offended about tending to common soldiers, rushed to her side as fast as he could.

"My princess, we have not been given time to-"

"Don't worry, Grand Maester." Sansa cut him off with a hand on his arm. "No need to prepare anything. I'm just here for a quick visit. The King is eager to know how these men are all doing."

Gracefully, Sansa walked through the narrow spaces in between the beds, trying not to make it apparent she was breathing through her mouth. The smell wasn't too bad, but unpleasant still. She smiled at the soldiers who looked at her and stopped everyone once in a while to exchange a few words and give their hand an encouraging squeeze. It was difficult for her to hate the ones that had fought against Robb, partly because they weren't in armors so it was hard to tell, and mostly because they all seemed to suffer so.

"The north remembers, m'lady. I hope we did you proud." said a man as he grabbed her wrist with his only hand. She tried not to stare, but it was hard not to notice the enormous gap on his other shoulder, where his arm should have been. He was sweating and weak; she doubted he'd live through the night.

"The gods want justice," she said as she sat down on his bed, holding his hand between hers. "You brought justice to the Lannisters and I will forever be grateful for it."

The man looked pleased as ever as he slipped away in a state of unconsciousness. Sansa let go of his hand and stood up, looked around, still trying to spot that one face without making it obvious she was looking for someone.

It was when another wounded man called out for her that she saw a glimpse of a man with _his_ hair colour and a familiar-looking stubble. She ignored the call and walked towards the bed she thought she had seen him in, in a distant corner of the room.  
Sansa's heart was beating fast as she realized she'd be crushed if she was wrong. The hope she had filled her up and made her unable to think rationally. Clearly she was walking towards one single person. But seeing Tobias in that bed in the corner, surrounded by only sleeping soldiers, her heart skipped a beat and she let out a breath of relief. She sat down on the bed next to his legs and settled her hand on his slowly yet surely rising chest. When his eyes opened she pulled her hand away, in realization, and did the most proper touching she could do; holding his hand.

Tobias smiled weakly and squirted his eyes, as if she was bringing light along. "I always knew were born to be a queen."

Sansa chuckled. "Close enough," she whispered.

Tobias grunted as he tried to sit up. "I was so happy when I heard you were safe, when I heard the city had fallen."

"I thought you were dead. I've been wondering for days."

"Don't worry, I'm not that easy to kill." he said, as he took his left arm out from under the covers.

At the sight of his hand, or rather, the absence of it, an urge to laugh maniacally overtook Sansa. _This is so ridiculous,_ she thought, as she suppressed her grin at the indisputable irony.

Tobias was eyeing Sansa, trying to read her reaction, and looked confused as ever at her smile with pinched lips.

"I'm sorry," she said with a chuckle. "It's just- oh the gods love to laugh, don't they?"

Her husband and her lover now shared a great flaw. Together, they only had two hands. It was just so absolutely ridiculous that her chuckles turned into tears. She tried to make them silent and turn her face towards the wall. She bit her lip. _It's not fair,_ she thought. _The gods are fucking cunts._

"Don't cry, Sansa. It's just a hand. Well, it hurt like a bitch, but then I got a lot of milk of the poppy to make up for it. And if it makes you feel better, I killed the bastard who did it to me. I cut of his head like it was a piece of cheese." Tobias's pathetic attempt at making it less big a deal at least made her tears stop.

"I'm so sorry…" she whispered as he brought up his hand to wipe away her tears.

"I'll live. We both will."

 _Just not together,_ she thought. _Our ways will inevitably part._ Sansa knew there'd never be a real future with him, at least not out in the open, but thinking he was dead at least gave them an conclusion that didn't require her to end it herself. The truth was, she didn't even know if she wanted it to end.

"You have to go, now," he said. His hand fell back into his lap as he looked away. "All good things must come to an end."

 _He's ending it?_ It came as a sudden shock to her. His eyes were hard but she refused to believe he'd suddenly stop caring. "But-" she blurted out, not thinking of what to say.

He looked at her, waiting for her reply. Tobias was distant and cold and it made her uncomfortable. She desperately wanted the old him back, the one she saw just minutes ago.

"You said you'd never let Jaime touch me."

Tobias's face revealed nothing.

"You wanted to elope."

Sansa thought she saw a flinch, but it was so fast gone she wondered if she'd imagined it.

"You killed people to protect me."

She was waiting for a smile, a sigh, anything. But he just pressed his lips together.

"You called me 'my love'." She was trying very hard not to let her voice break. "So I think you might love me a little."

Tobias looked away and it felt like a tiny victory. It was like the evidence was too clear to deny. "Half the men in King's Landing are in love with you." He sighed and added, barely above a whisper, "The other half just hasn't seen you yet."

The fact that he was making what they had so meaningless was more difficult for her to swallow than anything else he'd said. "That's not love." she replied, her voice sounding harsher and more vulnerable at the same time. _That's lust_ , she thought. _Surely you feel more for me than just mere lust_ , she wanted to say, but the words got stuck in her throat.

Tobias avoided her eyes and grunted, running his only hand through his hair. He looked beaten, defeated. "Why are you making this harder?"

Sansa didn't know. She should've just accepted his words and left, and it would have spared her the pain of another goodbye. She didn't know if she loved him, but she knew she cared for him. And he loved her; it was so blatantly clear she wondered why his words had made her doubt it so easily. Was she just desperate to finally hear someone say it?

"I know this whole thing was a bad idea," he said, staring at his left arm that ended in a nasty stump. "But if I could go back in time, I wouldn't do anything differently."

"I wish I could say the same. But I shouldn't have let you run off on your own, look what it cost you," she replied, gesturing towards his missing hand.

"I wasn't born to be a coward, Sansa." Tobias declared. And for one second, Sansa wondered if he valued his pride more than his hand. He looked around the room. They'd been speaking for several minutes and it was looking suspicious. "You should go. Everything has eyes is this bloody city."

She stood, suddenly aware of the many pair of eyes on them. Hoping they were just eyes and not ears. "I'll come back," she whispered as she gracefully smiled at him and curtsied, before walking away as if to her, he was just the common knight he was.


	22. The times to come

**Hello there!**

 **I KNOW this took a long time (I was shocked when I saw the date of the last update, my bad) but I had a very busy month. Here you go, enjoy and please review! I like compliments just as much as I like your thoughts and views and appreciate your constructive criticism ("i don't like it" is not quite helpful)!  
Happy reading :)**

 _Sansa's POV_

"Tomorrow's the trial," Sansa said upon entering her mother's room. Her new gown was a magnificent display of northern pride, a blueish grey yet light material with intricate detail. Her tailor had managed to blend southern and northern style together in a way that made Sansa look regal and like a breath of fresh air. No one dressed like her in King's Landing. But she knew that, as the king's sister, just as Margaery had been the former king's intended, they'd soon follow.

Catelyn Stark sipped her wine. "Indeed," she said, looking absent.

"You look troubled, mother," Sansa said, approaching her and setting her hand on her mother's shoulder.

Catelyn shook her head. "Nothing to trouble you with, my dear. Old acquaintances…" she mumbled, waving the comment away. "Sit. We need to discuss some matters."

Sansa sat and her mother followed, bending over to her and reaching for her hand.

"Your brother is now king, and by tomorrow, there'll be no contesting it. Do you know what that means?"

"Of course I know what that means," Sansa said. Where was she going with this?

"I've received word, Sansa. Ravens from all around the Seven Kingdoms are announcing dozens of lords' arrivals to meet with your brother and establish themselves as either allies or enemies. They want to get the measure of him to see what position would be most beneficial for them. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Sansa had gotten acquainted to such political games. Years in King's Landing had gotten her used to it all.

Catelyn sighed. "Among others, prince Oberyn and his niece, the crown princess, Arianne Martell are coming. They're now staying at an inn in Bronzegate, just across the Kingswood."

Sansa's eyes widened. She had heard much about the Martells, but had never met any Dornishmen. The Red Viper of Dorne was legendary, and his niece Arianne Martell was said to be both beautiful and cunning. A place where women had an equal right to the throne intrigued Sansa.

"Things could go both ways. The most likely possibility is that they support us. It is widely known the Martells despise the Lannisters for the murder of prince Rhaegar's wife, Elia Martell. But on the other hand… Rhaegar left Elia for Lyanna Stark. There might be some bad feelings about that. And besides, Arianne's brother Trystane is bethrothed to Myrcella, which means complications could arise."

"But they're coming so soon! News of Robb's victory didn't even reach every corner of the realm yet!" The ravens had been sent all around the Seven Kingdoms only days ago. It would last at least a while longer until everybody knew they had a new king.

"The Martells were already on their way for Joffrey's wedding that had been planned for right after the battle, it seems, and decided it would be beneficial for them to meet with whoever would end up on the throne, so they left earlier than the battle's outcome reached them. Which means they'll be here tomorrow."

"Just in time for the trial…" Sansa sighed, looking pensive.

"And they will be well received." Catelyn said, with expectant eyes waiting for her obedient daughter to nod.

"Sansa, look at me. Many lords are coming to court. Many of those are taking their sons and daughters with them."

Sansa was going to ask her why, but then it suddenly hit her. _For me. For me and my brother_.

"Robb is now on the throne, a young man without a wife. The most coveted bachelor in Westeros. They're all sending their daughters to King's Landing, for even a slightest chance at a wedding. You are Robb's sister, young, beautiful, but most importantly with a powerful name and an even more powerful title. If Robb were to fall, you'd be his heir. Bran and Rickon…" she looked away, scraping her voice. "Arya, they're not here anymore. You're his only remaining sibling. That's why those lords' sons are coming too. It's a competition, Sansa. And it will be ruthless at that."

"We're the prize of the century," Sansa mumbled. She and her brother were bait, their hands yet to be given to someone. "But it can't happen. Robb's promised to a Frey girl, and I'm…"

"I know." Catelyn snapped. "But my dear, tomorrow you might just be free already."

Sansa yanked her hand away from her mother's. "What?"

* * *

Sansa stormed inside Robb's study. He looked up from his desk. She realized this was one of little times she saw him completely alone. He was always surrounded by lords and advisors, and it seemed like he enjoyed his time alone. That she was disturbing.

"We need to talk."

"About what?" Robb asked, looking up from his paperwork.

Sansa took a deep breath. "About Jaime."

Robb's lip twitched and he looked away in annoyance of the mention of her husband's name. They had managed to avoid the subject for too long already, but he still didn't look prepared.

"What's there to talk about?" he said through gritted teeth.

"His sentence."

He was looking almost through her. "It's actually quite simple. The sentence for treason is death."

"What's treason? Everyone who fought against you? Are you going to kill them all?"

"Don't pretend he has never committed treason, sister. And terrible crimes."

Sansa stared at him. Maybe her husband did deserve the death sentence. But that wasn't going to stop her. "Have you maybe wondered if I cared?"

"Why on earth would you care?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because he's my husband?"

Robb's hands ran through his hair in infuriation. Sansa could see he was trying to control himself. "And that bond will last until tomorrow."

"And what if I wanted it to last longer?" Sansa was just uttering the words, at irritation for his disregard to her feelings. She had no intention of staying married to Jaime, but it pained her that he just didn't care enough to ask. He didn't want to accept the idea that Jaime might be more than what he thinks.

Robb snapped. "Do you enjoy being a Lannister?" he said, raising his voice.

"Of course not," she muttered, offended at him even saying so.

"Well then? The easiest way to make you a Stark again is to cut your husband's head off with the swift stroke of my blade. You may find widowhood becomes you."

"There are other ways."

"None worthy of my time."

"But-"

"End of discussion."

Sansa stared at him, just looking down to his papers again, dismissing her like a servant. She refused to take it and sat down on one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

"He was my husband and I should have a say in what becomes of him."

Robb sighed and tried to ignore her while he continued writing a letter.

"You haven't even asked how he was. To me, not to others, but to me. You don't care? Is that it? The way he treated me doesn't matter?"

Robb bumped his fists onto the table, stood, making his chair fall over and looked at her. "I have ridden day and night to arrive to King's Landing as fast as possible!" he shouted. Sansa saw a vain in his neck popping and knew he was truly angry. "I rode and I made my 19.000 men ride as fast as our horses could carry us in order to prevent your marriage to the bloody Kingslayer! And now I don't _care_? I know what he's like! He was _my_ prisoner before mother decided he was hers and let the monster go! You think you know him? He killed his own cousin in order to try and escape. _That's_ the kind of man you're married to! A man who shoves a sword in his king's back, a man who _fucks_ his own sister! And now you're telling me I should ask you if he was a good husband to you? Are you _mad_?"

Sansa was startled by his outburst and harsh choice of words. It was unlike Robb to yell like that. He breathed heavily while his eyes pierced through hers.

"I know Jaime Lannister is far from being a good man. I know that very well. He wasn't the husband I dreamed of, of course not-"

"Stop," Robb cut her off, as he picked his heavy chair up with one hand and sat down on it, looking exhausted. "I don't want to hear what he did to you. My mind has been going mad with possibilities and the only thing keeping me from strangling him to death in his cell is the fact that they're all possibilities and nothing more. How many days did he have you in his grip? How many nights did he have you in his bed? Three? Five? Seven? All too many. All the chances he had to put a Lannister in you make me sick."

"I'll never bear a Lannister."

Robb looked at her, a new expression in his eyes. Was it relief, was it shock, was it curiousness? "Did you drink Moon Tea?"

"There was no need to drink Moon Tea." Sansa declared. "Jaime never touched me. Our marriage was never consummated."

The new king looked confused. "I don't understand."

"What's there not to understand? Jaime Lannister and I never consummated our marriage, which makes it invalid. It can be annulled."

Robb rose from his chair and so did Sansa. "He didn't rape you?" he asked his sister, barely louder than a whisper.

"No."

Her brother looked so relieved that tears came to his eyes as he took her in for an embrace. "I'm so glad you weren't hurt."

Sansa stopped herself from clarifying, and said no more as Robb stood there for a while, his head resting onto hers, her arms tight around her brother's back. If she closed her eyes, it was easy to imagine she was in her father's arms. But Robb had grown even taller and stronger than her father, and she knew very well that her father was gone for good.

A servant came in with a tray of food and put it on the dining table before leaving.

"Eat with me, will you?" Robb asked his sister. "I'm constantly surrounded by people, yet I can't help but feel lonely," he admitted with a small blush. He was embarrassed at being vulnerable in front of his little sister, but knew she understood.

Sansa smiled and sat down. So did he.

"King's Landing is filled with enemies. You can't trust anyone."

"I know," he said. "But second-guessing everything people tell me makes me so tired."

"You always look like you feel guilty. Or regret. For taking the throne. It shows," she noted, making sure he was aware.

"I had no right to the throne," Robb admitted. "It shouldn't be mine."

Sansa let her fork rest on her plate and grabbed his hand across the table, forcing him to look at her. "You have the right of conquest. The only one that truly matters."

Her brother did not seem convinced.

"Do you think Aegon doubted himself? Felt guilty? Asked himself tens of thousands of silly questions?"

Robb sighed, knowing very well she was right.

"You overthrew a king, which makes you the new ruler. That's all there is to it. You'll be a better king than both the Lannisters and the Baratheons would have ever been. Longing for Winterfell isn't going to make this easier, Robb. This is your home now. And it's in everyone's, most particularly our best interest for you to _keep_ your newfound crown _on_ your head. Because here, you can't lose one without the other."

* * *

 _Robb's POV_

The new king looked over at the sunset from his study's balcony, trying to let himself be calmed by admiring the view and clearing his head. It didn't work. The news of the Martells' arrival had given him a load of extra stress. He had enough matters to attend to already, and now he had to host a prince and princess, best to be kept in friendship. At the rise of the same sun he was seeing glooming over this strange city, the last day of many Lannisters will have begun. He was going to execute Joffrey and Cersei, there was no doubt of it in his mind. There was no use for a trial, they were marked for dead long ago. And it's not like his father had been blessed with a trial either.

But he just couldn't wrap his head around what to do with all the others. Tyrion, Tommen, Myrcella, her fate that the Martells would want a say in, and least of all Jaime. Sansa's confession had made him doubt the man again. His sister didn't love the Kingslayer, he was sure of it, so there would be no reason for her to lie about the man. But he was a man that had committed so many terrible crimes, and could not go unpunished.

Robb couldn't help but feel irritated that Sansa was not the same as when she had left Winterfell. It irritated him that King's Landing had changed his sister, that she wasn't innocent anymore, with the wound of southern schemes visible in her eyes. She had lost their father to it, had lost the respect and power associated to the Stark name, had been branded a traitor by the people she had to live with, had been given to the Kingslayer. She now knew the way things worked around here, and would never go back to just being his loving little sister, dreaming of knights and love stories. He missed that girl. And it irritated him that no matter how many Lannisters he'd kill, no matter how many times vengeance would be his, he just _knew_ that it would always leave him feeling empty. Conquering King's Landing hadn't felt nearly as good as he thought it would've. The south had left a mark on his family for good. No amount of revenge would ever change that.

"You should go to sleep, Robb." his mother said as she entered the room unannounced. "I'm just here to wish you a good night." She approached him and lowered his collar to inspect his newest scar, as she had done every day since he'd acquired it.

"Mother…" he said, annoyed.

"I just want to make sure it's heeling well."

"Really? Then look at it, mother," he spat out, grabbing his collar and pulling it down. "Truly look at it. And look at that as well," he said, aggravated, pointing at the graveyard in the distance. "Look at the price I paid for the throne I didn't want. The price we all paid. 2100 men. And more, if we count all the others from before this battle."

He thought his mother would embrace him, but instead she scolded him.

"Stop whining like a child, Robb. You're the king now. It doesn't matter what you want. It doesn't matter that you want to go home and chase Theon away from there. You're the king of the Seven Kingdoms now, and there's no going back. So go to bed, because tomorrow will be a difficult day for all of us."

And his mother left, making him realize that she was right. Even if he was only 20, he had already fought and won a war, proclaimed King in the North and the Trident, conquered King's Landing and thus proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms. He had to stop wasting his time lamenting a life in which Jon Arryn had never died and every single Stark would've stayed safe and happy in Winterfell.

The guards announced an unexpected visitor and lord Varys entered. "Forgive me, your grace, for intruding on your evening. It is a lovely one, though." He approached Robb and joined him on the balcony. "A sunset can make everything look peaceful, can't it?"

"Illusions," Robb answered with a sad smile, as they both looked over the city.

"You're quite young to be so wise." Lord Varys smiled a strange smile, one Robb couldn't place, as he eyed his king.

Robb laughed modestly.

"Indeed, you seem wiser than your father," he said, before quickly adding, "No offence meant, your grace."

Robb's smile died on his lips as he looked over to the city in which his father had died. He wondered if the square he was killed in was in his eyes' reach. "My father did not deserve to die a traitor."

"He did not," Varys confirmed. "But nothing matters less."

"Honour is dead in this wretched city."

Varys sighed and looked over to the city, with eyes that seemed to see everything. "This is King's Landing. If you don't kill your own honour, your honour will kill you."

Robb wasn't convinced. He found it hard to believe, it seemed so tragic.

"It's kill or be killed, my king. Your father's honour got the best of him and his head ended on a spike for it."

"And the gods will see fit that Joffrey's will end there as well." His tone was harsher, more spiteful as he talked more like a king.

"Oh, the gods won't see to it, your grace. The gods have no interest in justice or peace, and even less in your or anyone's personal revenge. They won't bring that sword down on the boy's head, you will."

It was quite sad actually, but Robb had killed so many men that a public execution did not make him nervous like it would've at the start of the war. "The thirst for vengeance is a disease. But this is _justice_. It's all I've wanted to do since I heard about the things he did. To my father, to my sister."

"Ah yes, insults, beatings, crossbow incidents… The boy had a dangerous temper." Varys sighed.  
Robb looked over to him, surprised. He hadn't heard anything about crossbows. _Has Sansa kept some things from me?_ But before he could ask anything about it, Varys opened his mouth.

"When your father was in the black cells, I told him to put his honour aside and proclaim Joffrey the true king. But his honour seemed to block his hearing. I told him his son was marching south at the head of an army. The realm needs peace, you see. I like to think that's why he put his honour aside, even though he probably only did it for the sake of your sisters. Still, I like to think there are still some good men in this world, who put the good of the realm first." He looked up at Robb by his side. "Are you a good man?"

The king was surprised at the eunuch's bluntness. It made him uncomfortable. "I… I try to be."

"I know you never wanted the Iron Throne," Varys said, catching Robb off guard. He felt exposed. "You were just a foolish, proud boy, looking to save his father and sisters when you first started this war."

Robb wanted to feel offended, but knew the man spoke the truth. If he had known what war was, would he have called upon the banners?

"Your war didn't do any good to the realm. But your reign might." Lord Varys took a step back and bowed. "Sleep well, my king. Tomorrow is a big day. Hope is a fragile thing, and the times to come won't be easy."


	23. The king's reckoning

**Hey guys! This is the longest chapter ever and maybe even fastest update ever and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter full of GREAT stuff we've all been waiting for endlessly! Btw can someone explain to me the difference between visitors and views because those numbers have huuuge gaps between them and i don't get how i can get 10 times as many views as visitors and barely any reviews. THANKS AND PLEASE READ ENJOY AND COMMENT**

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

 _"_ _Or maybe he'll give me yours."_

Sansa's former words echoed in her head as she prepared herself for the day she had dreamed of for ages. Today, Sansa had chosen her gown very consciously. It was brand new, had an off-the-shoulder neckline and long sleeves made of the deepest grey silk. There was a glistering silver band along the neckline and around her waist, and if you looked at the detail, you'd notice embroidered wolves. She had a matching silver-band diadem, ornamented with small sapphires and crystals and she wore teardrop earrings embellished with the same small gems. It was important that she'd look powerful and solemn and defend the Stark honour with the dignity expected from the new princess. She didn't know how she'd react to today's executions, and with the proper attire she at least looked the part from afar.

As the maid gently brushed her hair, she put a silver ring her mother had once given her on her finger, noticing only now her hands were trembling. She hoped Robb's would be more steady.

With her hair twisted away from her face and falling in soft waves down her back, she heard a knock on the door by the guards ready to escort her to the throne room and then, after the trials, to the Great Sept of Baelor, the exact same place Joffrey had called for her father's head. She stood and managed to take one last look in the mirror, grabbed a silver silk shawl and exhaled shakily. _This is it._

* * *

 _Myrcella's POV_

Myrcella tried to arrange her hair in front of her little mirror as best as she could, but she had never even braided it herself before. Her fingers were trembling and unable to manage her locks. When she finally took a good look at herself, she looked like a sad mess. Her eyes were red and her hair was a frightful shadow of what the handmaidens were able to do with it before. Once, she had looked like a golden display of shimmering wealth and powerful royalty. Now she was a bleak and washed away bastard. _Bastard_. A hard word that kept lingering in the back of her head. She was waiting for the official declaration of her statute. Robb Stark, the new king, would inevitably cut of her brother and mother's heads off for high treason and thus make her illegitimate. No title, no land, no position. She'd be nothing, at the mercy of her captors. _Oh, how the tables have turned._

"Myrcella, are you ready?" asked Tommen with a little voice.

She turned around and smiled bravely at him. She admired him for his composure. He wasn't a child anymore; he understood what was going on very well. And he was able to keep a courageous face nonetheless.

A guard knocked on the door and Myrcella and Tommen were escorted to the throne room, where the trial for her uncles would take place. She shied away from people staring and made herself small. The former princess' dress had an odd fit to it, since she had chosen one simple enough to arrange herself that she had barely ever worn before. She had thought it safer to not wear Lannister red or Baratheon yellow, to not incite the Stark king's possible wrath. It was best for her to keep a low profile. But she had never done such a thing before. She had been raised a princess, born to be in the center of attention and gracefully control it. Then, she had been sent off to Dorne, to be the wife of a prince and live a comfortable life. She was bound to live her life in the shadows for now, and be grateful for having a life at all.

Robb Stark sat on his throne in all his magnificence. He had a more lavish style than she remembered, but still much more sober than what the south was used to concerning a king. He wore his bronze crown for the occasion as the pink and fresh scar peaked out from under his grey doublet, leading all the way up to his left ear. If anything, it made him look more fearless. Less… mortal. Divine, almost.

Myrcella had never felt more fear for a king than now. Her father had barely loved her, and her brother had been a monster. But neither of them would have harmed her, as she was princess. Yet this Stark king, with cold blood that had a tendency to _remember_ , had been longing for revenge ever since his father had been imprisoned. Myrcella and Tommen were the living proof of their mother's high treason towards Ned Stark's best friend, the constant reminder of their brother's actions.

When Myrcella had last seen Robb in Winterfell, he had been a charming boy. She had blushed at his kind words and giggled with her friends as she had admired the handsome Stark heir. She had been such a silly, naïve girl. Now he was king, a man hardened by loss and war. His judgement was all that mattered now. Life or death depended on him. He had his mother on his left side and his sister on his right. Catelyn Stark looked just as calm and sober as ever, and Sansa looked graceful and fearful at the same time in her new attire. She looked like the princess, the role that had once been Myrcella's, and commanded respect with a single look. Myrcella could see the lust for revenge in her eyes, no matter how sweetly she'd smile.

Close the king were the seats for the judges. Most of them were northerners, but one had been granted to Mace Tyrell and one to lord Varys, making new alliances obvious.

Tyrion Lannister emerged into the Great Hall, guarded by a dozen soldiers. He was lead to the center of the throne room and the people sitting on the stands all whispered at his blabbered appearance. He didn't look like much then and there, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. Myrcella noticed Sansa whispering in Robb's ear.

The Grand Maester rose to speak, as accustomed, but Robb spoke instead. "Tyrion Lannister. You have been accused of treason."  
The trial had barely started and people were whispering already. Northerners seemed to care little about formal ceremonies. The king would judge his enemies his way.

"Treason to whom, exactly?"

"Treason to the realm. You supported the reign of the False King."

"If that's how you see it, might as well put everyone here in chains. You'll quickly have an empty court."

Robb stared at him with hard eyes.

" _Supported_ is a strong word, I believe. I merely… indulged it. The vicious boy is, sadly, my kin, a matter I have little choice in."

"You knew he was a bastard and you let him reign anyway."

"Well, I didn't know, I was merely highly suspicious… But are you going to put the entire court on trial for that? Or the entire kingdom, while you're at it?"

"Don't play games with me, funny man," Robb said with a threatening tone.

"I'm not playing games, I'm stating facts. Forgive me, your grace, if facts offend you."

Robb was unhappy at Tyrion constantly replying. "Oh, don't worry, my lord, I know my facts very well. You led the battle at Blackwater Bay. You defeated the rightful heir to the throne. Why did you oppose to his claim?"

Tyrion shrugged helplessly as his best accomplishment was now turned against him. "Did you want me to stand by and watch as he slaughtered every man in this city? I did not choose my name, your grace, nor did I choose the side I was on. Someone was coming to conquer King's Landing, and I defended the city. At least I will have succeeded once."

Sansa approached the king's side and whispered something in his ear. He listened intently, whilst looking at Tyrion. The judges discussed as well. Catelyn Stark listened to their conversation and then turned to her son to tell him what they had concluded.

"Tyrion Lannister," Robb then said, tasting his name. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Myrcella's uncle suddenly found her in the crowd and while his eyes lit up, he gave her and her brother an encouraging smile. He then turned to Robb. "I am not a cruel man, your grace. I did make your crippled brother a saddle, so as you can remember, and I'm sure your sister would confirm, I can be kind –"

"His name is Bran," Robb interrupted. "My crippled little brother has a name." The fact that he was using the present tense started another wave of whispers, but quickly silenced when he raised his voice and spoke unforgiving and spiteful words. "Yes, indeed, it was very kind to give him a saddle after _your_ family tried to have him murdered, a helpless child, _slaughtered_ in his bed."

The hall was filled with whispers. This rumour had never reached King's Landing. Tyrion was speechless for a while, before stumbling on his words. "If that's the case, your grace, I… I had no part in it. I… I swear it! I told you, I am not cruel. Nor am I an idiot. That crime requires both characteristics."

In order to amplify his words, Tyrion Lannister knelt. The court went silent. They had not often seen a Lannister bow, let alone kneel. But Tyrion quickly caught Myrcella and Tommen's eyes and took a deep breath. "I recognize superiority when I see it," he said, raising his chained hands to the sky, "and will not contest your ascendance to the throne. We have lost the war and I respect that."

Robb seemed to weigh the little man's words. _Oh please, please let him live,_ Myrcella begged the gods. They needed their uncle.

Robb played with a ring whilst thinking. Everybody waited for his judgement. "Can you prove yourself to be more useful to me alive than dead?"

The imp looked surprised, exhaled relieved and quickly nodded. "I have been Hand of the King once, and I like to think I did a good job. I will serve you, my king, anyway I can. Anything to bring this realm peace. You have my loyalty, your grace, I swear it."

After Tyrion Lannister got untied of his chains, the king turned to his counsellors and judges. The crowd was buzzing and excitingly talking about all the action. It was the first time she actually noticed such behavior, but it disgusted Myrcella. These were matters of life and death and the crowd just loved the entertainment anyway. She tried not to feel ashamed when people stared at her, to mock her hair or dress or just plainly her. She pulled her brother closer and tried to eye the king, while everyone waited for the next Lannister to be judged.

The king sat on the throne again and the hall silenced itself. Robb rose. "Jaime Lannister will not be trialed today. His sister, Cersei Lannister, and _son_ Joffrey _Waters_ , the false Baratheon, are sentenced to death for their many treacherous crimes. The executions will shortly take place on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor."

A wave of whispers erupted in the Great Hall. Myrcella's breathing stopped. _He just declared us bastards,_ she thought. It had come so unexpectedly. Tommen turned all red and tears threatened to fall from his eyes for the fate of his mother. Myrcella squeezed his hand, trying to be strong for him. She tried to look for her uncle in the crowd, but couldn't find him. Robb Stark, followed by his sister, mother and advisors, exited the Great Hall to go to the scaffold where Cersei and Joffrey were waiting.

 _They're going without us,_ she thought, panicking. Myrcella did not know what to do. She had to be there, to see her mother one last time. She took her brother by the hand and pushed through the crowd, making her way towards the Starks.

"Your grace!" she shouted, not even ashamed anymore. _They can't kill her yet,_ she kept thinking, _I have to see her._ "Your grace! Robb!" she yelled again, louder.

The king turned his head, but didn't find her gaze. They continued, exiting the Red Keep, mounting horses and entering litters.

"Sansa! Help me! Your grace!" Myrcella yelled as she was blocked by guards. They kept pushing her back, and she heard that Tommen started crying. "Your grace!" she screamed again, desperate.

Finally, Robb turned and saw her. He walked away from his horse.

"Let her through!"

The guards let her and her brother pass and Robb approached them. Myrcella dropped down, realizing she had scarcely ever curtsied. "Forgive me, your grace, but I just hoped I could at least be there," she said with a shaky voice.

Robb looked uncomfortable. "There's nothing to forgive," he said. "Of course I'll allow you both to come. I'm just not sure it's something you want to see."

Myrcella looked up to him bravely. "I need to see her one last time."

He nodded, understanding. "I can… If you want, I'll give you two a minute with your mother when we get there."

Myrcella smiled as tears came to her eyes. "That is very kind of you, your grace."

Robb smiled uncomfortably, as if he only just realized he was killing a beloved mother. "My sister will be riding a horse through the streets, I don't know if…"

Myrcella cringed at the idea of riding a horse in the streets of the city she once ruled, irrationally thinking everyone would recognize her and shame her.

"Or you can join my mother's litter," he quickly said. "I'm sure she won't mind."

Myrcella smiled thankfully and climbed into the litter with her brother. Her heart pounded faster with every street they crossed as she shied away from the little window, while her brother cried silently and Catelyn Stark observed them both, watching the children who were going to lose their mother, just as her daughter had lost her father. Catelyn Stark wanted to feel sorry for them. But she just couldn't.

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

The very same people that had once chanted for her father's head were now demanding Joffrey's. She had hated them for it back then, they didn't know her father. But they had surely heard of rumours of the young king's cruelty and bastardy. Did it even matter to them? An execution was a spectacle. They just wanted blood.

The first litter to arrive opened its door and Robb told his guards to escort Myrcella and Tommen to it discreetly. They had a while to hug their mother and say goodbye, and Sansa noticed her OWN mother found his generosity exaggerated. The door then opened, with Myrcella and Tommen having already exited through the other side that was out of sight, to reveal a guard and the once oh-so-proud Cersei Lannister, in her chains. Out here in the light, she looked even worse than what Sansa remembered from in the black cells. Her skin had dry patches, she had deeply chapped lips and terrible bags under her eyes. Her hair was disgusting and her eyes almost as red as her wrists. She looked even worse than the smallfolk she so often despised, and they in turn booed and threw things at her. Something hard landed on her cheekbone and it started bleeding. She looked as proud as she looked broken. "Let me see my son, let me see my son," she kept begging the guards.

Robb instructed his guards to escort her to the scaffold and climbed the steps himself. Cersei was forced onto her knees as he looked at the enormous crowd, both the noblemen and women watching from the Sept of Baelor's balcony, and the square filled with smallfolk and many northerners, delighted to see what they had come so far south for. Robb managed to silence the crowd with a gesture of his hand and spoke.

"Your former king has once told you that my father, Eddark Stark, the Hand of the king Robert Baratheon, was a traitor. He cut his head off for it," he spoke, with a strong, loud and steady voice. "This was a lie."

The crowd murmured and Sansa shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Maybe she'd recognize a few of their faces.

"My father never plotted to take the throne, but only to give it to Robert's Baratheon rightful heir: his brother Stannis."

The crowd only remembered Stannis as the one who had come to attack their city, and started to boo. Again, a gesture made them shut their mouths.

"Because, you see, Joffrey _Baratheon_ is not truly a Baratheon, but a Waters. He is Cersei and Jaime Lannister's bastard son."

The crowd seemed ecstatic at the confirmation of the rumours that they had long ago heard.

"Cersei and Robert have no trueborn children, and therefore no rightful heir. Joffrey Waters, a vicious, cruel boy, born out of incest, is only a bastard and killed my father because he was threatening his false claim."

The crowd was working itself up, and northmen cheered at the mention of their former lord.

"My father only wanted justice!" Robb yelled. "And I will give him justice!"

The king took his sword out of the scabbard and the metal glittered in the light. The sword was longer than any sword she had seen in the south, and seemed familiar. _It's Ice,_ she realized, gasping. _Robb had Ice re-forged from Joffrey and Jaime's swords._ Sansa was thrilled to see her family's ancestral Valyrian steel sword again and grabbed her mother's hand to give it a squeeze. All the gold and rubies of the Lannister version of the sword had made place for the solemn, dark metal of before. A direwolf incrusted. Ice was Stark again.

"Cersei Lannister, you are charged with many crimes against the realm and the crown. You committed adultery and incest, killed Robert Baratheon to crown your bastard son, murdered others to keep it a secret. The penalty for that is death."

Cersei looked at the crowd in disbelief. It was all going so fast and she had nothing up her sleeve. The reality of it all just hit her. She had lost.

"If you wish to redeem yourself in front of the gods," Robb said to Cersei, allowing her to speak one last time.  
The woman was shaking and looked up to him in defiance. "I did it all for my children," she said. Nothing more.

Robb brought the sword in front of him, like his father had so often done, and spoke the words he had heard so many times.

"I, Robb of the house Stark, first of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die."

Cersei refused to bow her head and a guard forced it down onto the wooden block, mumbling "Have some bloody dignity." Her breathing was hurried and she started to cry silently.

Robb didn't let it throw himself off and avoided to look in Myrcella and Tommen's direction as he raised the heavy greatsword, tried to feel the strength of his ancestors through it, and brought the steel down on Cersei Lannister's neck.

The black crows flew away from the sound, Myrcella screamed in pain and people cheered as the reddest blood she'd ever seen poured out of Cersei's neck. It seemed like it would never stop. The lifeless head rolled away from the body and was picked up by a guard, who happily grabbed the hair and showed the head to the applauding people.

"The North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers! " the northerners chanted. Sansa had to swallow and avoided to look at the woman's children. She heard Myrcella and Tommen cry as everyone ignored them as well.

Sansa remained unmoved. It strangely didn't affect her so much. It was the fourth time she saw a head removed from a body, and only the first time had made her cry and scream hysterically. She eyed the noblemen and women on the balcony, noticed Margaery and her grandmother discussing something and Littlefinger silently observing the scene. Their eyes met and he gently bowed his head with a twisted little smile. Then her eyes found two foreign looking nobles, a man and woman with darker skin and dark, thick hair. The people around them whispered excitedly. They both looked intriguing, beautiful and powerful, and Sansa knew the Martells had arrived unexpectedly. Late for the trial but right on time for the executions. Truth be told, they looked quite pleased. She looked away, at Robb, breathing heavily as he stared at the Lannister blood on the ancient Stark sword. He slowly wiped it off. Two men grabbed the body, dragged her away and dumped it on a wheelbarrow. The head was thrown onto it as well when the second litter's door was opened and two guards dragged a coward, Joffrey, outside.

Sansa held her breath as she observed the man she hated most. His eyes were big and full of fear as he stared at the crowd he knew hated him and his gaze landed on the blood on Robb's sword. His clothing had lost all its splendor and he almost looked like the bastard he was. He covered his ears because of all the cheering. His eyes were red, like Cersei's had been, but not the same kind of red. Hers had given an impression of sadness and fury, but his looked like a mad man's. He had to be dragged to the scaffold as he screamed "No! I command you, let me go! Get your filthy hands off me! I'll have your heads! I am your king!". He looked disoriented, not completely aware of everything. The black cells had taken their toll on him. He was pushed onto his knees.

"Joffrey Waters," Robb spoke loudly. "Your reign was cruel and vicious. Your claim invalid. You mistreated my sister and called for my father's head. The penalty for your crimes is death."

Joffrey turned all red and furious, and suddenly caught Sansa looking at him.

Joffrey suddenly crawled upon his legs and looked manic. "You filthy whore! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" he kept screaming as he freed himself of the hands of the distracted guard and stormed towards her with his last strength, his chained hands aiming for her neck.

The other guards quickly caught him and punched him in the guts as he bent over, screaming in agony. Again, he was pushed onto his knees, falling into his mother's blood.

Sansa stared at him in shock as her mother asked her if it was wise of her to stay. Instead, Sansa removed her shawl from her shoulders and approached her brother. Robb was confused and the entire square stared at her in silence. She tied the shawl around the grip of the sword as if she was giving her favour to a knight's lance in a tournament. She then bowed down the kiss the unblemished part of the steel, her eyes focused on Joffrey. He stared at her in horror and remembered the time he had made her kiss his blade Hearteater before the battle of Blackwater Bay.

 _"_ _Your brother's turn will come. Then you can lick his blood of Hearteater too."_

Sansa smirked, enjoying his fear, and whispered "I told you he'd give me yours." Only he had heard her, but it was enough. He was speechless and seemed afraid. She rose to her full length, looked to her brother, and nodded. Sansa went to stand next to her mother again and took a deep breath as she tried not to smile too brightly. She suddenly thought of the Hound, telling her it didn't give him joy to scare people, but to kill them. Finally, she understood what he meant.

"I, Robb of the house Stark, first of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die."

Joffrey was frantically protesting and the guards pushed his head onto the wooden block, soiled with his mother's blood. Robb Stark raised his sword one last time, and the sound of Joffrey's panicked scream being interrupted by his head being removed from his body was the best thing Sansa had ever heard.


	24. A broken man

**Hey everyone! I know it took a while, but here I am with my longest chapter _ever_! My exams are coming closer and closer now so I won't have much time to write anything, but I promise I'll try. (btw I'm very confused with books vs show and I keep mixing them up but I hope you don't mind Arianne and Arys coming in and stuff like that, even though this story is mostly show, I like some elements from the books - does Loras even have brothers in this story? Idk? Do you?) I hope you like this chapter, please _comment _ if so (or if not)! Happy reading!**

* * *

 _Myrcella's POV_

Myrcella stared at the plate Tyrion's servants had just put in front of her and her brother. Rabbit. She loved rabbit. But couldn't really focus on it, noticing that even the maids were condescending towards her; their movements more brutal and their smiles and bows faint. She'd heard them snickering and whispering together behind the curtains.

"Eat, Myrcella," Tyrion said. "I'm sure you haven't had anything as good as this in days."

Myrcella looked at the cooked rabbit, admitting it looked delicious. "I'll never be given food as good as this anymore. I'm a bastard," she said, the word filled with disgust.

Tyrion sighed, eyeing her brother, who wasn't even paying attention to them as he ate, delighted by the food. "Myrcella, dear, you need to eat and you know it."

"Mother's blood isn't even cold yet," she mumbled, spiteful towards her disrespecting uncle. She knew they didn't like each other, but he wasn't even wearing black.

"I believe it is, you see, when it pours out of a body it doesn't really stay warm for long," Tyrion said, only regretting his words when he saw his nephew's shocked face.

"Why do you get a good room?" Myrcella inquired, bothered. "You're the queen's _brother_. Why did we get those pathetic rooms and you the same room you had before? Aren't you a traitor as well? A _Lannister_?"

Tyrion let one of his rings glide across his fingers as he laid back into his chair, unbothered. "That's because, my dear, I'm going to prove to be of large value to the Stark boy as that's the only way to ensure my life _and_ yours. And, mostly, because unlike you, I'm _not_ a bastard."

Myrcella gave him a hateful stare and got up violently. "We don't deserve to be bastards!" she screamed.

"It has nothing to do with deserving, Myrcella. What is it, you don't like the word? Might as well get used to it. You're a bastard. Bastard, bastard, bastard," he said, staring into her shocked eyes. No one had ever treated her like this. Tyrion didn't care, he just continued. "The more you say it to yourself the lesser it'll hurt when others do. Don't ever forget what you are. The rest of the world will not."

"Aren't you just the loving uncle," she spit, refusing to sit down, crossing her arms stubbornly and turning away from the table.

"Don't you want to hear my plans for your future?" he asked, sipping his wine, unaffected by her outburst.

Myrcella eyed him suspiciously. "I know my future. Trystane waits for me in Sunspear and I'll do whatever it takes to take Tommen with me as well."

Tyrion tried to contain his laughter. "What makes you think that?"

She was hurt, he could see it. "Because they've come!" she shouted as if it was the most obvious thing. "Oberyn and Arianne have come for me! They're going to ask for me back and take me home with them! I'm sure of it," she muttered, sitting down. "Why else would they come?"

Tyrion swallowed, hesitant on speaking again. He wanted to tell her something, she could see it, but he just nodded silently as he stared into his cup. 

Myrcella burst out of the room and into the gardens. _Why do the gods treat us so?_ She should never have been a bastard. Why did she now have to bow to the lowest of lords and ladies? Her mother would've died before she bowed down to anyone. _Well, I guess she did,_ she thought as she swallowed down a bitter taste. _I refuse to cry,_ she told herself as she blinked back tears threatening to fall.

Myrcella had met her mother one last time yesterday, but she barely remembered anything she'd said. She had scarcely recognized her, too. Sure, her tears had heavily blurred her vision, but her mother had looked at least ten years older than before. What did she even say? "Stay alive for me, my loves," Cersei had told them. "You two are good children. You'll be my pride, no matter what they'll call you. Tyrion, he'll take care of you, I know he will. He's a little monster, but not to you. You'll always be Lannisters. Show them that, be brave as lions. Don't let those bloody wolves think they can walk all over you. Stay alive, my loves, do it for me." She had repeated the same things over and over again while Tommen had cried into her lap and Myrcella had nodded at everything she'd said while her mother caressed her hair. And then suddenly the guards had opened the door to the litter and forced them out through the back.

Myrcella had never seen a head being cut off, and there's something about seeing your loved ones dying that had made her age 5 years in a day. By the time it had been Joffrey's turn, her vision had been too blurry to see. But seeing her mother's lifeless head had almost made her throw up. And the way they had treated it afterwards had made her want to cut off all _their_ heads then and there. Even Robb's and Sansa's, for just a split second. She knew she shouldn't. They had been so kind to her until now, kinder than expected to a bastard girl of their archenemies' family.

She just had to keep thinking of Dorne to keep on going. And keep thinking of her brother. At least they had Tyrion, in case Robb would kill Jaime. She wondered what Jaime did, down there, still confined to the black cells. She had hated it and it had made Joffrey almost mad and Cersei unlike herself. But Jaime was there the longest. The people's minds were going wild with possibilities. It was the talk of the palace, what would happen to Jaime Lannister. Why wasn't he trialed when he should've? Was princess Sansa maybe with child? Did princess Sansa love the man? Was Robb planning a terrible death, much worse than beheading? Wilder stories were going through the halls, but Myrcella was tired of being bothered by them. She did hope Jaime would stay unharmed.

She was picking a rose from a bush when she noticed king Robb, looking ever so royal with a deep blue doublet and a direwolf pin, talking to lord Varys by a tree. She had seem them together a lot lately, mostly Varys talking and Robb listening. Strange stories were going around about Varys, and it was hard to tell what kind of man he truly was. What his motives were for passing on some of his wisdom onto the king. Or maybe Robb wasn't interested in advice, but interested in whispers.

Suddenly Robb's eyes met hers peeking through the leaves and she blushed, busted. He said goodbye to lord Varys and went up to her, smiling carefully, testing the waters. He _did_ kill her mother only yesterday.

"Hello, lady Myrcella," he said. "I hope you haven't had the hardest time."

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. _Is he serious?_ A sudden burst of anger reached her face.

"I'm sorry," he quickly said, embarrassed, "I didn't mean to…"

"Cut off my mother's head?" she bluntly asked. "Don't worry, my king, I'm sure the blade just slipped."

Robb was shocked at her answer and so was she. Why on earth would she provoke the king's anger? She stood there, open-mouthed, suddenly scared of the possible repercussions.

"This was a bad idea," he said, turning away. He was a king and yet so easily dismissed by her. "Forgive me for intruding."

"No, wait," she told him, reaching out for his arm, and then quickly dropping it against her waist. "I'm sorry, your grace, I didn't mean to... lash out. I could actually use some company."

Robb looked at her suspiciously before offering her his arm and asking her if she wanted to stroll through the gardens.

"You see that tall tree there?" he asked, pointing to a tree they'd reach in a minute. "That's how far I can go without getting lost in these gardens."

Myrcella chuckled, thankful for him trying to cheer her up. "I'll help."

"They're truly enormous; I don't know how these people do it."

"I could walk through here with my eyes closed. You'll get used to it soon enough, your grace," she said, stroking the petals of the rose she held in her hand. She wasn't used to calling people 'your grace'. It felt strange on her tongue.

"Well, when I have time, you'll have to show me through the entire palace as well. I'm always quite thankful for the Kingsguard when I need to meet someone somewhere."

Myrcella tilted her head, surprised. "You kept the old Kingsguard?"

"What? Oh, no," Robb said, shaking his head. "Many of them died fighting, like ser Meryn Trant and the bloody Mountain."

"I never liked those," she said. "Ser Meryn was a coward and the Mountain was frightening. I'm sure your sister told you stories about them."

"Quite troublesome stories, yes. Lord Greatjon Umber and his son managed to kill the Mountain together, and if I knew who had killed ser Meryn Trant, I would reward him," Robb said. "My Kingsguard, they are now mostly northern lords. They're brothers in arms, I've fought with them for years; I can trust them with my life."

"And how do they know their way around the castle then?" she asked.

"Ser Loras Tyrell, ser Balon Swan and ser Arys Oakheart have been recommended to me. The most honorable knights in King's Landing, I've been told. And capable fighters."

"I know ser Arys well," Myrcella said enthusiastically. "He accompanied me to Dorne. He's very gallant, nice and trustworthy." She smiled, thinking of all the times he had looked out for her in Dorne.

"I'm glad to hear it," Robb said, seemingly relieved to hear good things about the unknown men he was trusting with his life.

They then saw two of his northern Kingsguard, lord Patrek Mallister, she thought, the one who often made the king laugh, and Olyvar Frey, the brother of the king's intended. The young man motioned for his king and friend to join them and Robb turned to her.

"My lady, duty calls. But I do need to say this before I go: I am sorry for your loss. I truly am. I don't regret my actions, they were the right thing to do. But I do regret the harm it caused you and your brother. I hope you can eventually find it in your heart to forgive me," Robb said with honest eyes.

Myrcella didn't really know what to say, startled by his words. The king was apologizing to a _bastard_? But he just courteously kissed her hand, not expecting her to answer and turned away.

"Wait," she blurted out. He turned around. She managed to gather all the courage in her body. "I… Will the bodies of my mother and grandfather be restored to Casterly Rock?"

Robb Stark blushed uncomfortably, surely thinking of the heads of Cersei and Joffrey on the spikes of the traitor's walk. "I promise," he said, bowing his head.

When he finally walked away, Myrcella wondered what was happening to her. Her mother would feel humiliated. How could she carelessly stroll through the gardens with the man who only just cut off her mother's head? How did she manage to listen to the voice that had proclaimed her a bastard? How did she bear to look at his face without despising him, to take the arm that had swung his enormous sword at his mother's neck? Myrcella was ashamed. She was being a terrible Lannister. But he was so different than expected. He looked like a king, respectful, powerful and honorable, but when he spoke to her she almost forgot it. That and everything he'd done. And she couldn't help but wonder if he did too.

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

Her mother had summoned her to the council room when Sansa had planned on going to find out where on earth Shae had vanished to, after having asked around everywhere, and they now had to wait for Robb, lord Varys and a couple of northern lords as well. Sansa was annoyed. Not that she didn't care, but it was high time she found out what happened to her handmaiden. She was scared she had died, even if that was hard to believe. Shae wasn't someone that could easily be killed.

Lord Edmure and his uncle the Blackfish entered, pleasantly sitting down next to them and making conversation. Sansa didn't even attempt to listen. Lord Varys then entered, and a couple of northern lords. The room was quickly filled with all of Robb's closest advisors and he finally entered as well.

"Ah, your grace!" lord Varys said, inviting him to sit. "We have important matters to attend to."

"Such as?" Robb asked while being poured a cup of wine.

"Members of the Small Council must be appointed, and we must decide about the Tyrells, lord Tyrion and lord Jaime."

Robb dismissed the servants. Sansa shifted uncomfortably on her seat, aware of the awkward silence in the room. She had wondered why she had even been summoned here, but now she knew.

"What of lord Tyrion?" Robb asked, unsure what there was to discuss.

"Well, it would be good to know what you expect of him."

"You told me he was a man I could trust," Robb said to Varys. "So did Sansa. You told me he'd serve the realm. And he will."

"He is, your grace, I have no doubt of it. But the question is how… As the Hand of the King?" lord Varys asked carefully.

Robb stared at him in silence then chuckled. "No. He's a Lannister still. He'll have to prove himself and earn my trust. As a member of the Small Council maybe, or… lord of Casterly Rock."

The northern lords, outraged, started arguing and even Catelyn seemed displeased. Robb silenced them. "I'm not going to send him back there immediately with the remaining Lannister forces, I'm not a fool. But, since the Lannister men have been ordered to return home, it would be wise that they have a lord, now wouldn't it? Kevan Lannister seems an incapable man of maintaining a good relationship with us, and his pride as a Lannister might get in the way of peace. If Tyrion Lannister can prove himself to be loyal, I'll give him Casterly Rock."

"But, your grace, Casterly Rock belongs to Jaime Lannister," Edmure said.

"Not if I say otherwise," Robb declared.

"Your grace, might we ask what you plan to do with him? You ended the trial quite abruptly yesterday."

Robb shifted on his seat and his eyes searched for Sansa. They both knew who had asked for more time, but he wasn't going to justify their choice.

"We needed time to think," Robb said, everyone knowing who 'we' was. "Jaime Lannister will not be executed."

Lord Umber got up on his feet, objecting. "That bloody Kingslayer killed the Karstark sons! He dishonoured your sister!" he yelled with his low voice.

"Lord Umber, I am very aware of Jaime Lannister's crimes. But we are not here to judge what he did in battle. I would've killed any lord's sons in battle, no matter what their names were. So would you. We don't see the difference between a lord, a knight, a squire or a peasant when they're placed in front of us with another sigil. As for the other crime, it is not _our_ place to decide what should be his punishment."

The lords then turned to Sansa, painfully aware of all the eyes on her. She wanted to let Jaime go and live his life, but she knew he had to be punished. He didn't deserve to not bear the consequences of his actions. She was lucky enough to have talked Robb out of an execution. "My lords, only I can know what punishment my husband deserves. I know what he did do, there's no need to remind me. But I also know what he didn't do. We will demand an annulment as soon as possible," she said with a calm composure.

"On what possible grounds?" asked lord Bolton, and the men around them shook their heads.

"Well, for one, I was forced into the marriage," Sansa started, but was cut off by lord Manderly.

"Yes, but, my princess, you said the words. You vowed to stay married to him until death. Can't be declared annulled."

Sansa forced him into silence with a look. "And the marriage wasn't consummated."

The lords all stared at her, dumbfounded, and she realized this was quite an awkward thing to talk about with a dozen men she had known since she was a child.

They all opened their mouths to speak but she couldn't make out one voice from the other as they shouted across the table. Instead, she raised hers.

"I can assure you that lord Jaime will testify in my favour and confirm the claims. I will formally ask for an annulment. Afterwards, the High Septon will annul the marriage and I will be Stark again."

"And what if he doesn't?" asked lord Bolton.

"Why wouldn't the High Septon annul my marriage?" He would be an imbecile to refuse the king's wishes.

"Not the bloody septon, the Kingslayer."

"He will. I know he will. He swore it to me."

The men sneered, looking at her as if she was an idiot. "And you trust the word of an oathbreaker?"

"I trust the word of my husband," she declared, closing the discussion.

The men shut their mouths and she sat down. Robb then spoke. "Jaime Lannister will either be sent to the Wall or stripped from all titles and lands and banished from Westeros. I have not yet decided."

The northern lords were unable to hide their disappointment and sniffed, looking disgusted. Robb ignored it.

"Now, lord Varys, what about the Tyrells?"

"The Tyrells will want their reward," he said with a knowing look. "They're not the kind of house to just give away favors for free."

"It's not for free. If they hadn't turned on the Lannisters, the Tyrells would've been in trouble as their primary ally during the war. They provisioned the Lannister army for years. I would not have easily pardoned such a crime."

"But the question remains whether we would've won without the Tyrells in the first place," the Blackfish said. "A question that could never be answered, of course, but a question still."

"A question that does not _need_ to be answered," Robb countered. "We won and that is it. The Tyrells gambled and the gods granted them luck. They gambled so carefully that _we_ didn't even _know_ they'd turn on the Lannisters until our armies were actually at these doors."

"The Tyrells crave power, no matter how sweetly they smile, how graciously they dance or how compassionately they wave their pretty little hands at poor orphans," said lord Bolton. "I'm sure lord Varys' little birds confirm it."

Lord Varys did not reply, seemingly approving the statement.

"They don't seem-" lord Manderly contested, but Catelyn cut him off.

"They hide it very well. But my father always told me to be wary of the Tyrells. Or any southerner, for that matter. But it's quite simple. If we want to keep them as friends, to benefit from their provisions-"

"Do we _need_ them?" Robb asked.

"The people of King's Landing depend on the Tyrells' generosity. Hungry subjects quickly get tired of being subjects when their superiors have 55-meal courses, my lords. King's Landing's people are no strangers to kings that just let them starve, and I can assure you that we don't want to have half a million hungry skeletons at our doors."

"It's terrible," Sansa confirmed, staring through the window with empty eyes. "They're not human when they're hungry," she said with a small voice.

The council had no need for further details to conclude the Tyrells were vital.

"What reward could they possibly want? They're our friends already. I can give Mace Tyrell a seat on the small council, to make it official, and Loras Tyrell is already a part of my Kingsguard."

"The Tyrells will want what they've always wanted…" mumbled Catelyn. "A crown."

Robb looked at Sansa, not getting it, and for a moment she couldn't believe how clueless he was.

"Margaery Tyrell was betrothed to Renly Baratheon when he proclaimed himself king and then engaged to Joffrey. They'll push her into _your_ arms soon enough."

Robb looked at his hands, incredulous.

"It's a bad idea," said lord Umber with an alarming face. "The Tyrells aren't trustworthy. When Renly died they were out here, fighting alongside his enemy only weeks later. Margaery being engaged to Joffrey didn't stop them from betraying the Lannisters either. If they find something better, it won't take long for them to betray us as well."

The lords entered in discussion on that matter, debating the cunning roses of Highgarden. Robb's hands went to his hair and he closed his eyes, trying to block it all out and think for his own. He then put his hands on the table, commanding attention.

"I'm afraid the Tyrells aren't known for their loyalty," Robb declared, looking at his mother.

"Nevertheless, tales of their wealth never fail to reach our ears," Catelyn replied, well aware. "If you marry Margaery, they will-"

"I have an intended already," Robb said, raising his voice and cutting her off. "Remember? I swore an oath. I cannot forsake my honor."

"No worthy king has ever lived a life in which he did not have to choose the good of his people over his honor."

"The people need to eat, brother," Sansa said, catching his eyes.

"I am promised to another," he protested weakly, "Margaery cannot be my wife. They can shove her in my way all they want."

"As the Martells will shove their jewel Arianne into your way as well," said lord Varys with a mysterious, know-all smile. "It's not wise to refuse a princess of Dorne and a lady of Highgarden to wed a mere Frey. They might not take kindly to that insult."

"Neither will Walder Frey if he doesn't," warned the Blackfish.

Robb's nerves were about to pop as he ran his hands through his hair, images of Margaery, Arianne, the Frey girl without a face or name all running through his minds. The only girl he had actually truly talked to was Myrcella and she was the bastard daughter of his sworn enemies. When did it all become so complicated?

"Olyvar has only just told me the Freys are sending the one they chose for you here, along with two other sisters and a brother. Luckily, Walder Frey chose not to travel along," Catelyn announced.

The council then started talking about positions that needed to be filled and titles that needed to be given, so Sansa decided to excuse herself. She had heard enough.

Sansa exited the room and bumped into Loras Tyrell and Arys Oakheart, guarding the doors as Robb's men. She wondered if Loras had heard anything.

Sansa curtsied and the men bowed. "Is it all too much for you, my princess?" ser Arys said, smiling.

Sansa smiled back. She remembered Arys as the only man of the Kingsguard, besides the Hound, who would refuse to beat her when Joffrey asked, and then only hit her as lightly as possible. He was gallant and handsome as well, and always treated her kindly, even when she had been beaten as a traitor in front of everyone.

"I've heard all I need to hear," Sansa declared.

"Where are you going, my princess? One of us could escort you," Loras said.

Sansa did not want them to know where she was going, but wondered how she could refuse their offer without arising suspicion. "I'm sure it's not the task of the Kingsguard to escort the king's sister," she said with a smile.

"It's truly no trouble, my princess," assured ser Arys.  
 _Why are they being so difficult?_ "I- I have to find my handmaiden," she blurted out.

"Your handmaiden?" ser Loras said, raising an eyebrow. " _You_ have to find a _handmaiden_?"

"Indeed, ser Loras. Not just any handmaiden, _my_ handmaiden. I haven't seen her since the battle and I need to know what happened to her," Sansa said.

Ser Arys uncomfortably shifted on his feet, not saying anything to make her upset and crush her hopes.

"I don't need you, I'll be running around the castle to ask around. I'll find other guards to escort me. But thank you, still," she said with a polite curtsy as she turned to walk away. Why did she have to curtsy? She kept forgetting that she was not required to curtsy to everyone anymore, but it was a habit.

But instead of running around the castle, not knowing where to start, she walked with a purpose. As quickly as feet could carry a princess whilst smiling to people passing by, she got to the Traitor's Walk. She stopped in her tracks when her eyes were drawn to quite a familiar face placed on a spike. It was Joffrey's, with an open mouth and big, frightened eyes. Or at least, they had been frightened. Right now, they were just dead. The scream he had uttered was mute and instead of a neck he had a spike. Sansa couldn't help but stare at it, satisfied. She was standing right were Joffrey had forced her to watch her father's head and she looked down to the street she had wanted to push Joffrey in. If she had, she'd be long dead. And it would've taken a while for her to die, knowing Cersei. Sansa shivered. Cersei's head still managed to seem powerful. Her mouth was closed and she had a solemn look on her face. She had probably cried, but the tears on her cheeks would've long dried out.

Sansa proceeded to approach the entrance of the dungeons.

"Good day, my princess," a guard with an enormous scar across his jaw said. There were only five of them this time.

Sansa smiled politely. "Bring me to Jaime Lannister's cell."

One guard eyed another, and they seemed hesitant on letting her in. The scarred one opened his mouth to talk but then closed it. He motioned another, with a hooked nose, to lead the way and followed behind Sansa.

"My princess, we might ought to tell you that the Kingslayer is… well… not himself," the one with the nose said as they descended the stairs. With every step Sansa's breathing got heavier due to the lack of air.

"How would you know he's not himself?" Sansa asked. "Do you _know_ him?"

The man turned around to look at his supervisor, behind Sansa, and then said "He heard the doors opening yesterday morning. He heard us take away prisoners and not taking them back. He screamed and punched the door for hours."

Sansa was worried about him. Nothing better than the black cells to make any man mad. She tripped on one of the stairs on a sticky substance and the guard behind her grabbed her arm, keeping her from falling.

"What's that?" she asked with big eyes.

"I believe the queen's feet were bleeding yesterday," the man said as he let her go. "Here we are, my princess."

There she was again, in the narrow corridor with all the heavy doors. The little light the torches provided made it hard to see the end of the hallway. She wondered what effect these cells had had on her father.

"We'll be right outside the door, my lady. And we'll leave it open, to take a look inside once in a while."

Sansa nodded and they opened the heavy door she remembered to be Jaime's. She entered, her eyes adjusting to the dark and breathing through her mouth to ignore the stench. She looked for him in the same corner she had seen him in the last time, but couldn't see anyone in front of her. She was about to call for the guards when a hand tugged her skirt and she jumped up, shrieking.

Jaime's hands fell in his lap again, rattling his chains. He was curled up besides the door. He looked much worse than last time. He didn't look spiteful, nor regretful, nor hateful. He looked empty. A broken man.

Sansa crouched down and looked for his face. She could make out the familiar features and reached out to feel a beard.

"You look dreadful," she blurted out honestly.  
He didn't react. His eyes stared right through her.

"Are they giving you enough water?" she asked as she felt dry patches of skin on his face. He looked like he had aged 5 years in a couple of days.

Again, he didn't react. It was like he didn't see her. The only sign of recognition she had gotten was the tug on her skirt and the fact that he let her touch him.

"I can… I'll have you transported to a regular cell," she offered. She had no idea whether she had the power to do that, but figured she could maybe convince Robb if she tried hard. "You need to bathe and to be fed for your trial tomorrow."

Jaime closed his eyes and she could see a single tear being pushed through his lashes. "She's dead…" he whispered with a raspy voice.

This time Sansa was the one to not react. She just got up, demanded water from the guards, and then got back in to crouch down and attempt to give him what he needed. "They definitely don't give you enough to drink. Your voice is so hoarse and you look weak. You can't defend yourself like that tomorrow."

He wasn't raising his hands to accept the cup, so she tried to pour the water into his mouth. He didn't spread his lips. "Cersei's dead."

Sansa felt powerless. "She is," she confirmed. "So is Joffrey. They died quickly."

Jaime stared at the cup of water. "Why am I not dead as well?" It looked like a genuine question.

"You're getting a trial tomorrow. You'll be sent away. I don't know where, but you'll live."

Jaime sighed like she had just announced the most tiresome and worthless event and he turned his head towards the wall. "I should've been with her."

"You're lucky you weren't," Sansa said, slowly getting irritated. "I fought hard to give your life a chance, Jaime. I will not have fought in vain."

Jaime then turned his head to look at her, truly _at_ her. It was like the man she remembered was back for a brief moment. "I belong with her. We shared a womb. I held her foot as we got into this world. I was born with her and I should've died with her."

Sansa wanted to yell at him. Tell him that Cersei did not love him as much as he loved her. Tell him she was a monster and she deserved to die a much more terrible death than she did.

"There's more to life than just her," she attempted instead. "There's your brother, still, he'll serve Robb and there's Tommen and there's Myrc-"

"I don't care," he said, exhaling tiringly. "I don't care about any of them. _She's_ gone."

"They're your children," Sansa said, getting worked up by her lifeless husband. This was not the man she had married.

"They were never my children," he said, shaking his head slowly. "They were hers. And I helped make them. But they were hers all along."

"Jaime, you can't-" she said, raising her voice.

He cut her off with a whisper. "I never asked you to fight for me."

"What?" she said, shocked.

"I kept my oath, Sansa. I swore I wouldn't lay a hand on you. You were my last chance for honour and I took it. I only asked _one_ _thing_ in return that night."

Sansa's mind moved back to her wedding night. She'd asked him not to take her maidenhead, and he had agreed. But then-

"No, I won't let you," she said, shaking her head, suddenly remembering what he had asked her.

"You told me you'd let me die and you denied me that wish."

Sansa stood in disbelief. "I'm giving you a chance to live!" she shouted. "How many people get that chance? How ungrateful can you be? You _refuse_ life?" Sansa was angrier than he'd ever made her before. She wanted to throw the cup of water at him, she wanted to shake him and get his brain to work again.

"I have no purpose without her," Jaime said, strangely calm. "I don't want your gift."

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but had nothing left to say. She looked at the guards, waiting behind the doorstep, and turned towards them. But before leaving, she said: "I need you to annul our marriage."

And he said: "I will be a dutiful husband. And I hope _you'll_ be a dutiful wife. One last time, for our marriage's sake."

Sansa shook her head, unable to understand him. She threw the cup in the straw beside him, the water pouring out of it. She did not know him anymore. "I want you to remember this. Just… remember this moment, when you had a chance to _live_ and _chose_ not to."


	25. Suggestions

**Hey there! Here's another chapter for you, probably the last one in June. (sorry, exams) I hope you like it! Please review!**

* * *

 _Robb's POV_

Robb, Sansa and his mother were seated at a dining table full of delicious plates. Robb had to admit that if there was one thing better about King's Landing than about Winterfell, it was the food. There was an abundance of fruits and different kinds of meat, a welcome change from his years on the road. But he knew he'd eventually start missing Old Nan's pies and soups.

Robb eyed his mother, ever so composed and graceful, who made an effort to stop wearing black. Sansa sat beside her, seemingly absent, trailing her finger across the table. She had been reluctant to dine with them tonight, but had not told them why. Nevertheless, she had sighed and chosen to do her duty. She wore a purple silk brocade, off-the-shoulder gown. Robb wasn't accustomed to this new style, only used to the heavy and warm dresses he remembered her to wear back in Winterfell many years ago. He knew he had to accept that she'd grown up, but she was his little sister. His only little sister, now.

"Robb, we've been waiting for an hour now. Did your note say when we expected our guests?" Catelyn asked.

"It just said 'dinner'," Robb said with a shrug.

Catelyn sighed. "Dornishmen dine later than we do. You should've been more precise."

His mother had urged him to invite the Dornish as soon as possible. They had ignored them the day of their arrival, and to do so a day longer would be an insult. Robb was tired, and he knew Sansa had other things bothering her, but they eventually did what their mother told them.

"Sansa, I've finally found men to be your constant guards. They're good men, northerners and trustworthy," Robb declared to break the silence.

Sansa looked up, looking lost. She processed the information. "Guards?"

"Yes. Or sworn swords, whatever you want to call them."

"I don't care how they're called. I don't want them."

Catelyn put her hand on her daughter's. "Don't be ridiculous, Sansa, you can't wander around these halls unprotected. You're the princess now."

"Yes, that's what the Lannisters said too when they stationed guards at my door every waking minute of the day. They followed me around like dogs to 'protect' me. They were just protecting a valuable hostage. A prisoner. I won't be a prisoner again."

"You're the princ-" Robb intervened, but got cut off by the doors opening. Their guests had finally arrived and Robb, Sansa and Catelyn stood, postponing the discussion they were having.

Arianne and Oberyn Martell were truly magnificent. They breathed royalty with every step they took. Oberyn's doublet was half open and he had an intriguing smirk on his face. Arianne's dress was even more revealing than Margaery's usual attire. The dress was backless, sleeveless, made of flowing orange material, and had a deep neckline. She certainly wasn't finding the climate too cold. The color suited her brown skin perfectly and her dark eyes pierced right through everything she looked at as her long, dark curls fell freely over her shoulders. She wore golden bracelets on her upper arms and a magnificent golden belt. In a room with the new royal family of Westeros, the Dornish princes looked more regal than they did.

"Welcome, princess Arianne and prince Oberyn," Robb said, approaching them, not intimidated by their appearance.

Arianne Martell curtsied with a mischievous smile, her eyes never leaving his. Oberyn approached Catelyn.

"My lady, I am very sorry for your losses," he said. "And very happy to see your family here."

Catelyn smiled a polite smile and went to greet Arianne.

Robb looked over at his sister. Oberyn approached Sansa, standing slightly closer to her than accustomed. "Lady Sansa," he said, tasting her name. "Forgive me, I meant princess!" he laughed. His eyes went up and down, admiring her in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable. "I believe the gods meant for you to be a princess all along."

Sansa just smiled a polite smile, crossed eyes with Robb, and repeated words her Septa had once taught her. Robb was satisfied, trusting her. Her troubles would not get in the way of this dinner. She was a master at etiquette. He knew this dinner had a lot at stake and it absolutely had to go well.

They all sat down and the servants put the plates on the table. Arianne had found her way next to Robb, and Sansa found herself between Oberyn and her mother.

Robb spoke first. "I am very sorry for our poor reception yesterday. We were expecting you in the morning. But you weren't there, and we had to proceed. As you may have seen, we were quite busy."

Oberyn smiled a malicious smile. "Yes, we have seen."

"You swing swords quite well," Arianne said with a flirtatious chuckle.

"Tell me, your grace, where did all the Lannisters disappear to? We've only just arrived."

Robb felt some sort of threat in the Viper's voice. Was he unhappy that Robb didn't let him kill his enemies? "Lord Tyrion is in his chambers, I believe."

"Yes, I've heard… And why is that?" Oberyn asked, playing with his cup of wine and trailing his finger along his stubble.

"You missed the trial. Let's just say lord Tyrion is of more use to me alive than dead."

Oberyn started counting. "Cersei's dead, Joffrey's dead. I've heard troubling tales, so I guess that's good riddance. Your sister's Kingslayer is in the black cells…"

Sansa cleared her troath and uncomfortably shifted on her seat. She locked eyes with her mother, seemingly growing worried at the direction this dinner was heading.

"And what happened to dear old Tywin?" asked Oberyn.

"He died. He succumbed to an arrow wound from the battle."

Oberyn seemed disappointed. "It seems our enemies died before I could get to them."

Silence was safer, but it quickly grew awkward. So Sansa took the lead.

"Mother, look at the princess' gown! The fabric is magnificent."

Arianne smiled. "Thank you, my princess. It's a new fabric our merchants found in Qarth. Yet there, the women wear it with one breast exposed." She chuckled and Sansa joined. "I fear Westeros is much too pious for that."

"How is your father, princess Arianne?" Catelyn asked.

"Surprisingly well, thank you," she said with a smile. "He was recently ill, but he's not bedridden anymore." She turned to Robb. "And you, your grace? I've heard you were terribly wounded during the battle."

"It's a large wound, but not that deep," he said, brushing it off as nothing.

"Is this the scar?" Arianne's hand went straight to Robb's neck and trailed her finger along the line. "It looks fresh."

Robb froze, shocked by her manners, and cleared his throat. "Uhm… It… Yes. That's the one."

"You must fight bravely," she said, dropping her elegant hand to his arm. "I've heard many stories about the Young Wolf on the battlefield! If only half of them are true…"

Robb chuckled nervously. "They say many things, princess Arianne."

"I've heard you can't be killed," Oberyn said, amused at the sight of Robb overwhelmed by Arianne, carelessly eating grapes and bread with his hands.

"I'm only a man," Robb said.

"In a thousand years the songs will call you a god," Arianne said, leaning back into her chair and finally taking her hand away from Robb. He exhaled happily. This dinner was supposed to be diplomatic.

"They don't only tell tales of you," Oberyn said with a smile. "They tell tales of you too, princess Sansa."

"They do?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Tales of your beauty don't do you justice, my princess," he said, raising his cup towards her. Sansa blushed, taken by surprise. "I've travelled far, but I haven't seen many women as remarkable as you."

Sansa smiled, painfully aware of how close he was. She felt his breath in her neck and she knew he enjoyed her camouflaged discomfort. "You are too kind, prince Oberyn."

"I've heard more troubling tales as well," he said, leaning closer towards her with a mischievous smile. "Tales of poison, enchantments, seduction. They're not _all_ fit to discuss here," he said with a grin.

"Prince Oberyn," Robb intervened, annoyed by the man's audacity. "Do you enjoy the wine?"

Oberyn backed away and smiled at the king. "It tastes like water to us Dornishmen. But it is good enough."

"My lady, I've been wondering, how's Myrcella doing?" Ariane asked Catelyn to stop the tension from building.

Sansa let out a relieved breath. It seemed the crownprincess was their ally, only the Red Viper enjoyed making everyone uncomfortable.

"I don't know her very well," Catelyn said.

"It's been quite a few difficult days for her," Sansa declared. "I haven't had the chance to speak with her yet. Maybe it's best that we stay out of her way, for a while."

Robb shifted on his seat and Sansa eyed him curiously.

"And, if it's not too bold to ask, what do you plan on doing with her?" asked Arianne.

Robb cleared his throat. "We figured you might want a say in that."

"And why's that?" Oberyn snickered.

Arianne looked at him disapprovingly and turned to Robb to rectify Oberyn's answer. "That's very considerate of you, my king."

"She's betrothed to Trystane Martell," said Robb, ignoring the Red Viper.

Arianne sighed and Oberyn laughed. "Not anymore," he declared.

"Excuse me?"

Oberyn finally sat properly and put his cup down. His face turned serious. "She's a bastard now."

"She has been since her birth."

"Ah, but she was a bastard with a _Baratheon_ name. When the king sends you his sister, you do not refuse, no matter what the rumours say."

Arianne sighed. "She was a Lannister in all but name. Still, she's a sweet girl. But we can't take her home to marry Trystane. What a disgrace it would be for my brother to marry the bastard daughter of the queen and the Kingslayer."

"Indeed, my dearest brother explicitly urged us to annul the betrothal," Oberyn said as he bit in an apple. "You're free to do whatever you want with the Lannister bastards. Myrcella, thought sweet as she is, is not our concern anymore. We will not have a Dornish prince marry a bastard girl, especially not _that_ one."

Robb was speechless, but neither his mother nor his sister seemed surprised. It was a politically logical move, of course. The Dornish did not despise bastards, but even Oberyn hadn't married his bastard lover. A prince could simply not lower himself to that standard.

"Well," Sansa said, interrupting the silence, "it is what it is."

* * *

When Robb returned to his room after dinner, he sat down in the seat in front of the open window that looked over the palace gardens and the sea. It was a welcome change from the view in his work room, where he had to look over the entire city and be reminded of the weight on his shoulders. He poured himself a cup of wine and leaned back in the comfortable seat, listening to the soft sound of the waves. Grey Wind appeared, silent as a ghost, and laid down next to Robb. His nose went up to his master's hand and he licked the fingers. Robb smiled and scratched him between the ears.

His mind wondered off to the council meeting in the morning. When he was younger, still a boy in Winterfell, his father rarely ever talked about his marriage prospects. He had mentioned a couple of names once, but never anything concrete. Marriage had never been something Ned had pressured him with. So Robb had just figured that, when the time came, he'd marry some shy and proper northern lady and grow to love her like his parents had. And he had been fine with that. And then, when he had reached the Twins, he had made peace with the fact that he'd marry a Frey girl eventually. Even though the tales about the Frey girls weren't very positive, he had figured his intended couldn't be that bad. The plan had been in the far-off future, one after the war, one that was impossible to imagine. And now, he was King of the Seven Kingdoms and multiple high-born girls were swung at him. And he had to make a decision.

Robb didn't like the pressure. He had never thought of marriage as some political move, but he should've known better. His parents' marriage was a political move, even though they ended up loving each other. Every alliance made by nobility was a political move and this particular one would have repercussions, no matter which choice he made.

Would he end up marrying the Frey girl, like he had vowed to? It was the most honorable thing to do, after all, the girl was coming south, expecting to marry the king. Maybe she wasn't ugly. Maybe she was kind and honorable, and maybe he could fall in love with her.

But the realm cared little of whether Robb could love his wife. Only Robb did. He knew that if he talked about this to anyone, they'd just tell him to suck it up and wed and bed whatever was thrown at him. And if he didn't like his wife, he could just have someone he liked better to visit at night. But Robb wasn't raised that way. He had to be loyal to his wife, like she'd be loyal to him. He couldn't forsake his honor like that.

The realm wanted him to choose a queen, and all he wanted to choose was a wife. A partner, a lover, the mother to his children. The choice mattered to him, and he never thought he'd have to make it so quickly.

Maybe he'd marry Margaery Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden. He had barely talked to her, he only knew what they told him about her. Sansa was mostly positive about her, she said that Margaery was kind and had been her only friend in King's Landing. But Catelyn was more skeptical of the girl's true motives. The girl was beautiful, he had to admit it, with her brown curls and chestnut eyes. She was enchanting, elegant and graceful, everything a lady should be, and kind to the commoners. On top of that, she brought food to King's Landing's tables. But he had observed her when she wasn't looking. She was cunning, he could see it. Every move was calculated, every word carefully monitored. She pretended to be played while she played others. She could be a good queen. Maybe she was the best candidate for that position; it was a role she could play, a burden she could carry. Robb knew he could use a wife who was truly _queen_ , who would share the weight put on him. But he wondered if Margaery could truly be a _wife_ to him, a trustworthy ally, someone he'd grow to love.

And then there was Arianne Martell. She was truly incredible. Mesmerizing, confident, intelligent. The way she had trailed her fingers across his neck had sent shivers down his spine. But he wondered if she was just playing a game. She looked like she enjoyed the challenge of seduction, one that would put a crown on her head. Why did she even need one? She was destined to wear Dorne's crown already. Marrying her would unify the Kingdoms with the autonomous Dorne, would make them less independent to the realm. It was a smart move, one his advisors would encourage him to do. The northerners would like it less. If they had their way, Robb would just marry a northern lady. The princess of Dorne was far too foreign, too southern. But how honest was Arianne? What did she truly want? She was unreadable, which made him uncomfortable.

Grey Wind got up and placed himself in front of Robb. He looked straight into his eyes, a piercing yellow stare. Maybe Robb just had to choose the wife that Grey Wind liked best. It would make the choice much easier. Grey Wind looked uneasy, restless. Robb knew he should take him hunting, the direwolf was young and needed to unleash his energy. He had missed the battlefield. Robb sighed, another task added to his long list. He would've never guessed how heavy the burned would be for a king. And it was only the beginning. He knew he desperately needed a Hand. Or maybe just a queen.

The guards knocked on the door and announced Petyr Baelish. Robb rose, annoyed that he was disturbed at night, during his precious time alone. Littlefinger entered and bowed.

"My king, forgive me for intruding."

Robb did not forgive him. "What do you want, lord Baelish? What is so urgent?"

Littlefinger approached, looking weary of Grey Wind. The wolf was weary in return. "Your grace, I have information you might like to know."

"Tell me."

"Lord Varys might be the lord of whispers, but I have eyes and ears everywhere as well. I think the lord of whispers might have missed this particular piece of information."

"Try me," Robb said, skeptical of Littlefinger knowing anything lord Varys hadn't told him. Robb was weary of the man. He liked the eunuch much better, and he knew the two of them were enemies. Rivals.

Littlefinger smirked. "Do you keep an eye on your sister, your grace?"

"Excuse me?" Robb said with a menacing tone.

"Oh no," Littlefinger quickly said. "I'm not having her followed. She just happened to be somewhere my eyes and ears were as well." He looked over through the window, ignoring the king's demanding eyes. "You see… She went to the West Barracks. Where they treat the wounded."

"The barracks?" Robb asked, confused. "Oh yes, I remember. She told me that."

"Did she tell you what she was doing there as well?"

"She went to uplift the soldiers' moral, to show our support."

"A thoughtful act of the princess. But, she was… _seen_ doing more than that."

Robb calmed Grey Wind down, who was starting to show his teeth. He trailed his finger in between the wolf's ears as he looked at the Littlefinger's back, observing the view.

The man turned around. "I believe she was talking to a certain wounded man. Holding his hand, whispering."

"Who is this man?" Robb demanded.

Littlefinger smirked, enjoying his knowledge. "Ser Tobias Lance. It's not the first time he's seen in the princess' slightly too familiar company. I remember he gave her his favor at a tourney. And a pair of my eyes also saw them together once, _alone_ in deserted palace halls."

Baelish bowed and walked towards the door. "Your sister should be more careful, my king. Preserving the gift the Kingslayer granted her is of utmost importance."

Robb wanted to ask how Littlefinger knew what was said at the small council, how he knew that the Kingslayer hadn't touched his sister, but the words got stuck in his throat.

Littlefinger sighed and opened the door. Just before he left, he turned around and said: "It would be… such a shame if the princess were to forsake her honor."


	26. A debt repaid

**Hey guys I'm sooo sorry this took such a long time. Exams came, and then summer with holidays and trips and work! So here you go! Normally I'll be able to write on a normal pace again, like posting twice a month. I hope no one's forgotten this story, please enjoy and review! I really appreciate any kind of comments! **

* * *

_Margaery's POV_

The High Septon brought the entire throne room to silence when he raised his hands in the air. The nobles were curious about the announcement they had summoned everyone for.

The holy man cleared his throat on the steps in front of the Iron Throne. "The princess' marriage to lord Jaime Lannister has been annulled," he declared.

The announcement shocked the lords and ladies. A wave of whispers and gasps filled the hall and Margaery eyed Sansa, standing next to the Iron Throne and her brother. She tried to remain unmoved yet look triumphant at the same time, but Margaery knew how uncomfortable she had to feel. Her mother moved closer towards her, as if to support her. Robb looked quite uncomfortable as well.

"Both," the High Septon said, raising his voice, trying to get the attention of the hall again, "both, the wife and the husband have testified to being forced into this marriage, and more importantly, to not have consummated the marriage. Therefore, it is invalid by the laws of the Seven and an annulment has been obtained. In sight of the gods, I proclaim lord Jaime of the house Lannister and princess Sansa of the house Stark unmarried."

Margaery was standing on the gallery, next to all the ladies, and grabbed her grandmother's hand. The Queen of Thorns gave it a squeeze. While all the ladies talked about the recent announcement, Olenna Tyrell shared some of her sharp wisdom with her granddaughter.

"If they annulled it, the Kingslayer will live," she said. "There's no point in obtaining an annulment if he was going to die anyway. It's far easier to obtain widowhood. The Stark girl must value her honor, and, in some way, his life. She played well. A victor on all fronts."

"She's not playing," Margaery claimed, happy about all the voices clouding their whispers. "They truly didn't consummate, she told me after her wedding night. And we all know the Stark value honor and truth."

"That doesn't mean they didn't consummate it later. What man would have a girl like that in his bed and leave her untouched? Anyway, does it even matter? An unmarried, young and beautiful princess will attract suitors, whether she's a maiden or not. The realm will gossip about whether there's any truth to the claims, but such rumors are insignificant."

"Why should they even gossip? Jaime confessed as well, there's the proof," said Margaery. She knew the answer, but she didn't want everyone to gossip about Sansa's maidenhead behind her back. The poor girl didn't deserve everyone to doubt her word about such a delicate matter.

"He has the king breathing in his neck. Any man will admit to anything to save his life," Olenna stated. "Come, my dear, let us join your idiot of a father downstairs. It is time you work your magic on that young man that happens to sit on the throne, before another girl charms the fool before you even get a real chance to do so as well."

Margery sighed, frustrated. Her few feeble attempts at seduction had almost gone unnoticed by Robb. When did she become so invisible? Her eyes went to that Dornish Arianne, standing next to the Red Viper and throwing the king a captivating smile. It was safe to say Margaery did _not_ like her. On top of being _Dornish_ ánd arrogant, she dressed provocatively and was undeniably attractive. Margaery had never had much opposition in that department, considered one of the most beautiful girls in the Kingdoms. The only few girls who could match her were no danger to her; the king's sister was obviously no competition and Myrcella was a bastard born out of Lannister incest, not to be acknowledged as a rival for the crown. And despite the king's reputation for honor, the Frey girl couldn't possibly beat her, considering her family's reputation for beauty. Arianne _could_ , though. She liked throwing Margaery challenging looks, as if to provoke her, to remind her that Margaery had made little to no progress since Robb's ascension to the throne.

"Now," Olenna said while she crossed arms with her granddaughter, stepping down the stairs, "Those salty Dornishmen have dined with the Starks last night. Looking at that harlot, we can assume it went quite well. But there's no need to despair; you can easily catch up. There's nothing she has that you don't, except maybe vulgarity. Who comes to an official happening with a bare back? Anyways, we shall trust your skill and expertise. Now, you will go and talk to Sansa, show your deep affection for her in front of the king, and bow down and smile to him. You will make small talk, you will make sure he can admire you and find a way to a private conversation. Do you hear me?"

Margaery nodded. Normally, she'd be confident as ever, but the Martells had thrown her off guard. She was not as confident in her ability to seduce as she had been before. It almost seemed like he was immune to her grace and beauty like no man had been before. She flaunted a fake smile as they reached her father. He smiled back at them, and squeezed his daughter's cheek. Margaery sighed.

"You look lovely, as always, my dear! If we-" he started, but Olenna cut him off.

"Oh please Mace, we've got no time for your nonsense. What are you even doing down here? You should join the jury!"

Mace did as he was told as a scolded child and Olenna turned to her granddaughter. "Now, listen, we've only got a little time before they bring in the Kingslayer. Go up there and congratulate Sansa."

Margaery was almost pushed towards the new royal family and she bowed down in front of the steps. The king thankfully noticed her and motioned her to climb them. She bowed down again, right before him, making sure he'd notice her cleavage as well. "My king," she said with a soft smile.

Robb smiled politely back and opened his mouth to speak, but was called by one of his northern bannermen.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said as he rose to calm the jury's heated discussion. Margaery looked over, seeing her father looking rather lost in between all those northern lords raising their voices at each other. She sighed at his hopelessness. And the opportunity to talk to Robb was gone. She had failed, yet again.

Instead, she approached Sansa. "My dearest princess! Congratulations on your annulment."

Sansa chuckled nervously. "It all went according to plan, didn't it?"

"It did! I'm so happy for you," Margaery said, taking Sansa in for a hug. "Did he easily agree to confessing?"

Sansa swallowed. "He wants something back for it."

"Well, what is it?" Margaery asked curiously.

Sansa watched her mother talking with her uncle and deemed it was safe to speak. "He wants death," Sansa whispered. "But I've needed a lot of time to convince Robb to soften his penalty and to agree to an annulment. I haven't told him what Jaime wants."

Margaery was dumbfounded. "Why are you helping him if he doesn't even want to live?"

"I fought for him," Sansa declared. "The king bent to my will. And now I have to tell him what Jaime's going to ask him? Jaime doesn't get to demand anything. He's a prisoner."

Margaery sighed, startled by the mess Sansa might've caused. She wondered if Jaime would cause a scene and provoke the king's anger.

"Oh Margaery, I'm frightened of what's about to happen," Sansa said in despair.

Her friend wished she could comfort her, but had absolutely no idea how to. She wanted to tell her not to worry, but knew she should. Instead, Margaery drew her in for another hug. "I'll be here for you."

Sansa pulled back and smiled gratefully. Margaery could see a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Was she doubting her sincerity, or just worried about what would happen? A wave of panic hit Margaery, afraid of her only advantage abandoning her. She desperately needed the king's sister to be her ally and to favor _her_ above all others. Of course she was using Sansa. But she loved her too, and just wished for the care she told herself she would've given Sansa if she had married Joffrey.

The high doors opened and the Kingslayer entered the room. Margaery saw Sansa inhaling deeply as the entire hall silenced itself and moved to make way for the prisoner. Margaery went to join her grandmother.

He could've been walking in King's Landing's streets and no one would have even looked at him twice. He just looked like a dirty street rat, he had lost all the splendor of a Lannister. His beard was dirty and messy and his greasy hair fell down his cheeks. His eyes looked like deep holes in his face and the rings under his sockets had never been darker. He kept squinting his eyes, the light seemingly burning. He stumbled over his own feet and his once-white tunic was covered in brown dried up blood specks and yellowish rests of sweat. The black cells were clearly anything but comfortable. Everytime a prisoner emerged from them, the lords and ladies would bet on whether that prisoner had gone insane or not. The Rose of Highgarden never did, of course.

The guard pushed him unto his knees in front of the steps. Robb rose from the throne and the hall had never been more silent.

"Kingslayer," he said, and Jaime flinched in response, "do you have any crimes you wish to confess?" The king was trying to sound just and diplomatic, but his voice was drenched with disgust and hate for the man.

"What am I on trial for, in particular? Or this might be a long one." The man hadn't lost his edge and Margaery could see Sansa already growing nervous at his boldness.

"Let's start with your crimes against the crown," Robb calmly said, "You committed incest with your married sister whilst being Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard. You fathered all of the children passed off as his. Do you deny this?"

Jaime didn't react. Robb took it as a sign to continue. "That alone is an act of high treason."

"High treason justifies the death penalty," Jaime said softly, almost like a plea.

"I'll be the judge of that," countered Robb, his temper showing through. "Now let's continue with your crimes towards my family in particular." The king sat down on the throne and his wolf appeared out of nowhere, standing beside the throne. His yellow eyes stared at Jaime, alert, and he let Robb's fingers run through his pelt. "My sister was forced to marry you."

"That was not my-" Jaime started weakly, but Robb just cut him off.

"But you vowed to my mother that you would bring back her daughters safely in return for your freedom."

Jaime didn't know what to say. He was defenseless.

Catelyn Stark stepped in front of the throne towards the edge of the stairs. She looked at the man from above, her lip trembling slightly. "A Lannister always pays his debts. Yet you never repaid us for your freedom, Jaime Lannister. No, instead, you wed the daughter you were supposed to bring back to us unharmed."

Jaime just shrugged. "I'm not an honorable man, my lady. You said so yourself."

Catelyn Stark tried remaining poised as she remembered the conversation she had once had with the Kingslayer, a long time ago. The king's wolf was growing restless, and Sansa ran her fingers through his pelt to calm him down. The wolf's temper matched the king's, as his hands turned into fists.

"Let's continue then, shall we?" Robb said as he rose from the throne. Jaime wasn't even trying to justify the lesser sentence he was supposed to get and Sansa eyed her brother, wondering if he'd change his sentence like Jaime wanted.

"You pushed my brother Bran out of a window when he saw you being the filthy rat you are."

"He fell," said Jaime, obviously lying.

"He was pushed," Robb stated. "Tell me, Kingslayer, were you disappointed when he just _wouldn't_ die? So disappointed you had to send a sellsword to finish the job?"

Jaime stared at Robb in silence.

"You were a guest. We welcomed you into our home and you tried to kill our brother. Even the Stranger would look away from you in disgust," declared Robb with his hate-filled tone.

Jaime just shook his head repeatedly. "Boys shouldn't climb towers."

"Maybe you shouldn't fuck your sister in Winterfell's towers!" Robb yelled.

The hall grew silent. Everyone watched the king's angry posture and his wolf walking away from Sansa's soothing fingers with his teeth exposed. He was growling and went to stand next to Robb, staring at Jaime.

A dozen silent seconds felt like eternity as Robb and Jaime's eyes clashed. Grey Wind walked down the steps and growled at the prisoner, his teeth only inches away from the man's scared face.

"Take him away," Robb ordered, and guards dragged Jaime Lannister away. The hall started buzzing with excitement and Margaery grabbed her grandmother's hand, surprised by the king's fury.

"This should be over soon. Under all those layers of honor and duty…" Olenna said, shaking her head, impressed. "He' s a wolf after all."

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

Robb's head seemed to explode as his advisors crowded him, all speaking at once. Sansa pushed through them and grabbed Robb's arm. He followed her to a quiet place behind the throne.

"How did you live with that man," Robb spat. "I just want to see Grey Wind rip him to pieces."

"He's provoking you, Robb," Sansa said. "Look at me. He wants death. He wants deliverance. That's why he doesn't defend himself. He wants to see his twisted sister again in the deepest of the seven hells."

Her brother stared at her with an open mouth. "He _wants_ death? Oh, I'll give him death! I'll feed him to Grey Wind right here, right now." Robb yelled. "Who does he think he is? He is _my_ prisoner! He doesn't get to demand anything!"

Catelyn joined their discussion. "Son, you need to calm down. You can't let your temper get the best of yourself. A king can't be impulsive, you have to think things through. For a minute there, I thought you were going to have Grey Wind bite his neck open."

"I was," Robb answered, unbothered. "But that would just be a reward for that sick fuck. No, I'll give him just what he wants the least. A miserable life."

He motioned for the guards to bring Jaime again and the hall went silent as Robb placed himself on the throne. Sansa stood beside him, and Grey Wind was lying at her feet. It was like he could sense that Robb had made a decision.

Jaime was dragged in the same spot he was before, and Robb, seemingly calm, opened his mouth.

"Jaime Lannister. Your sentence will be banishment," the king declared. The hall started whispering, but he raised his hand and they all silenced themselves. "You are hereby stripped of all your titles, holdings and belongings. You will leave Westeros and never come back."

Jaime took it all in without answering.

"At first light tomorrow, it will be open hunting season." Robb said, almost looking rejoiced at the prospect of him chasing him down with Grey Wind. Sansa just hoped Jaime would have some sense and leave on time.

"Now get out of my sight."

The guards dragged Jaime away and the trial was over. Sansa was freed of her husband and would never see him again. She just didn't know how she felt about that.

* * *

 _Margaery's POV_

The sun was setting and it gave a beautiful glow to the gardens. Margaery plucked a rose and told her ladies in waiting to leave her alone. She strolled through the bushes on her own. It calmed her and made her forget all her worries. She listened to the sound of the soft waves and regretted not having taken a shawl. The nights were starting to get too fresh for bare arms. Highgarden would be slightly warmer, she imagined. She missed her home and her brothers. Perhaps it was time for her to give up on her ambitions and just return where she came from. Maybe she'd be happier for it. But that just wasn't her.

She decided to find her favorite spot, where she could sit on a bench between lavender bushes and watch the sea. Sometimes, she'd come there early in the morning to watch the sun rise while the breeze would bring the lavender smell through the curls in her hair, and she'd squint her eyes to try and maybe see Essos, and fail every time. There was something enticing about the unknown. Something exciting. But Margaery would never wish to leave Westeros behind, she did not have the heart for it.

When she finally turned around the corner that would bring her to her quiet spot, she was dumbfounded when she saw that her bench was not empty. The direwolf was sitting on it.

Grey Wind looked at her, and she half expected him to show her his teeth, but he just acknowledged her and went back to staring at something in the bushes. It was a strange sight, really. A direwolf calmly sitting on a bench. It made her chuckle. He was unbothered by her. So she approached him, slowly, to see how he'd react. He kept staring at something in the bushes, his ears pointed and his nose active. Margaery was careful to not make any brisk movements, and sat down next to him at a safe distance. _What on earth are you doing?_ she asked herself. _Are you mad?_ Grey Wind was known for ripping his enemies' throats open in seconds. And she was casually sitting next to him on a bench. She observed him from the corner of her eye, admired his strength and size. Until he jumped up and in one second reached the bushes 5 meters away and ripped a bunny to shreds.

"He tends not to like strangers," a voice said, appearing from behind a tree.

Margaery jumped up, and looked Robb in the eyes. He chuckled. "Didn't mean to startle you, my lady."

She smiled, relieved. "How long have you been there, your grace?"

"Just from when he jumped. I was just over there, at the grape vines, exchanging… stories with my Kingsguard."

He saw her raise an eyebrow and he laughed. "Yes, I'm guilty. I was exchanging war stories with men instead of ruling these bloody kingdoms."

Margaery smiled and Robb joined her, sitting at a polite distance from her on the bench. "Every king needs rest from time to time. I believe you've spent more time ruling in your first weeks than Joffrey did in his couple of years."

He nodded. "I feel like I've aged years in just months. War… and all that."

"Your hair hasn't turned grey yet, so I think you're safe."

Robb chuckled and Grey Wind returned from his stroll through the bushes with a bird between his bloody teeth. He devoured it in seconds before lying down on the grass. Robb sighed. "A direwolf chasing rabbits and birds. What has the world come to?"

"You were fighting a war mere months ago and now, here you are, eating the finest delicacies and drinking fine Dornish wine in the Red Keep the Targaryens have built."

"I know. I'm ashamed."

"Why should you? King's Landing awes us all. For a while, at least. Until you realize that the smell is the least of its flaws." Margaery plucked some lavender from the bush next to her and stroked it with her fingers. "We're all liars here. We all lie and scheme and watch as other people get the justice they do or don't deserve. Your subjects aren't exactly angels, your grace. You may find the south harder to rule than the north." She wondered why she was uttering those words, but once the truth came out it was hard to stop it.

"Are you a liar as well?" he asked curiously with a smirk on his lips. But Margaery knew the question was genuine. Robb Stark wanted to know if she'd lie to him as well.

"I'm a southern girl, your grace," she said. "This city compels me to lie."

"Maybe I should learn to lie as well."

Margaery smiled. "I used to be terrible at lying. You should've seen me when I first got here! Blurting out the wrong words and making the queen plot to have me killed. I was as innocent as ever until I arrived in King's Landing."

"Really?" Robb asked, looking incredulous.

"No!" Margaery answered with a chuckle, "Lesson number one: never naively believe anything you're told. Although, I'm sure she was plotting to kill me at some point. But I've always been good at lying. As a girl, I could have had whipped cream all over my face and still convince my dad I hadn't eaten the entire cake."

The king laughed yet again and suddenly Margaery was reminded who she was talking to. Their genuine conversation was pleasant and she wondered if maybe trying less hard was the key to his heart.

"Impressive, my lady," he said.

"Your turn now, your grace, you have to practice," she said. "Tell me two truths and one lie."

Robb looked around, thoughts running through his head. "I considered giving up the war 3 times. It took Greatjon Umber two of his fingers to be bitten off by Grey Wind in order to pledge his sword to me. My favorite color is red."

Margaery burst out into laughter. "Your favorite color is _red_? Oh, please! That was too easy."

"What gave me away?" he said, laughing.

"You just randomly blurted that out and I've only ever seen you in cold colors," she said, taking the time to observe him while he played with Grey Wind. The only warm color he had was his hair. His piercing blue eyes only reminded her of where he was from, even though they were Tully heritage. "Which were the three times?"

Robb looked up, taken by surprise at the conversation leaving the playful route. He looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Forgive me," she quickly said, "I shouldn't have-"

"No, no, I don't mind," he said, his hand faintly brushing her arm, "I brought it up." He turned to look at the sea. "At the dawn before my very first battle. I just realized the mess I had brought us all into and wondered if it was worth it. I was afraid, I had never fought in a real battle. But then I looked at my men, all the men I'd ripped from their homes to come fight for me, and I didn't want it to be all for nothing. I didn't want to look like a coward, either. So we fought that battle. I killed 18 men that day. I wounded many more. And Grey Wind must've killed at least as much as I did."

Margaery head tilted to the left. He looked different. Vulnerable, almost, and regretful.

He rasped his troath. "The second time was when I heard of my father's death. I spent hours alone in the woods, ruining my sword on the trees. I wanted to kill every single Lannister alive that day. But I also wondered if it was all worth it. He was dead, after all. I wanted to exchange Jaime Lannister for my sisters and just get the hell back home and claim our independence. But there's no urge stronger than that of vengeance."

"Oh, there is," she said with a naughty smile.

Robb chuckled and continued. "I never wanted anything more in my life than Joffrey's head on a spike. The queen's. The Kingslayer's. Illyn Payne's. Tywin Lannister's. Hell, I would've gladly butchered every man in King's Landing in my father's name."

"Grief makes us animals," Margaery said. "Luckily, the gods have shielded me from that curse. For now. If anyone laid a hand on my brothers or grandmother or parents… I would do everything in my power to make sure they would not live to see the dawn."

The king watched the rose of Highgarden and knew she was speaking the truth. Margaery knew it as well. If there was one thing she admired about Cersei, it was that she loved her children fiercely. She was ruthless towards her enemies. Margaery was the same, just… more subtle. Much more.

"And the third time?" she asked.

Robb looked away, towards the sea. "When Theon's betrayal was smudged with my brothers' blood. I'd never felt more hurt. He was a brother to me. He pledged his sword to me. He stood by me at all times. And then, he led the Ironborn into the North and took our home from us. He executed our master at arms. The man that had taught him how to yield the sword he was about to kill him with. He butchered my little brothers, _his_ little brothers and hanged their burned bodies at the gate."

Margaery noticed his voice started trembling and her gentle hand found her way to his arm. "He will pay for what he did."

Robb looked at her, with a hard, determined look on his face. "And so he will."


	27. Goodbye

**I'd like to start with an apology for my long absence, I'm so sorry! I was just stuck, "writer's block" of having a big thing to write but not knowing how to write it. So, I've done it, and I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy about the last scene but (with your feedback) I'll see if I might rewrite some of it. I just thought I couldn't leave you hanging any longer! But I'm back again, I swear, now that I'm passed this dreaded chapter! Please tell me how you (don't) like it, what your thoughts, questions, corrections, suggestions and ideas are! In short, I'd be extremely grateful if you'd just review! Enjoy**

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

It was late in the evening, long after sundown, and only a small party was awaiting Roslin Frey, accompanied by her halfsisters Merianne, Serra and Sarra. Luckily, none of her ill reputed brothers had accompanied them, as Olyvar Frey, the friend and King's Guard of Robb, was already present in King's Landing. The Freys were early, and a raven had come earlier than expected to announce their imminent arrival.

Sansa eyed Robb as he looked nervous, aware his intended was coming with no doubts about her future marriage to the king. But Robb and basically the entire court knew very well that now that Robb was king of the Seven Kingdoms, their marriage wasn't a certainty at all. Catelyn was talking to Robb in a hushed voice and Sansa stood with Grey Wind and Olyvar Frey. He looked happy, eager to see his sisters again. Or at least one of them. He kept smiling at Sansa, making joyful conversation, apparently unaware of the situation.

"You'll see, my princess, Roslin is a darling, the sweetest girl I know," he said. "She's very gentle and kind, and she sings and plays the harp very well!"

"Is that so?" Sansa asked with a smile, pitying the man who was sure he was going to be the brother of the king.

"Yes, you'll enjoy her company! She's a proper lady, but a little shy. She must be nervous about coming here." He sighed, looking worried. "She's innocent, my princess. These southerners will eat her alive without any guidance."

"Don't worry, ser Olyvar, I'll take her under my wing. In fact, I'll invite her to luncheon with lady Margaery tomorrow."

"You're very kind, princess, she'll like that," he said, grateful.

Sansa nodded, already exhausted at the prospect of tomorrow, and the heavy day had taken its toll on her. Tomorrow, she'd sit with Margaery and Roslin for luncheon and Arianne and Myrcella for dinner. Sansa feared uncomfortable conversation and rooms filled with tension, so she had made sure Arianne and Margaery wouldn't eat together. It wasn't hard to notice the two didn't like each other. Their houses had some sort of natural dislike and distrust towards each other, and both of the beautiful girls were fighting for the attention of Robb, and with Roslin coming, it couldn't get much better. But Sansa knew the Freys weren't supposed to be good-looking, and therefore she had figured Margaery would be nice with Roslin, unthreatened and therefore more at ease. She hoped so, anyway.

"There they are!" Olyvar shouted, ecstatic, pointing at the carriage appearing from the dark and narrow streets of the city. The carriage crossed the bridge and stopped in front of the Red Keep. Sansa glanced at Robb, looking very uncomfortable.

Olyvar rushed to the carriage and pushed the guards away to open the door for his sisters himself. One girl climbed out clumsily. She looked as old as Sansa, but had many pimples on her face, greasy dark hair and a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken a dozen times. She didn't smile and kept her eyes on the floor. She looked all but pleased to be here.

The way Robb looked almost made Sansa laugh. He turned his eyes towards his sister, and she shook her head reassuringly. Sansa was confident the intended of the king would at least try and find her betrothed with her eyes, and that girl couldn't possibly be the one.

The next girl looked quite young, 12 maybe, and jumped out of the carriage all excited. She had a chubby face, many freckles, a tangled mess of curly red hair and a big gap where her front teeth should've been. But at least her smile illuminated her face and made her look much more appealing. Olyvar pinched her cheek playfully and she went to stand next to her sister.

Then, another girl came out, looking just like the first one. They were twins for sure. The only difference was that her hair was too dry and her teeth were yellow and crooked, and that she looked extremely annoyed and rude. Both of them were too tall, too skinny and not near charming enough. Sansa already sighed at the prospect of having to make conversation with those twins.

Finally, Sansa saw a silhouette stand in the carriage and before she could properly get out, Olyvar grabbed her and spun her around. She gasped out of surprise. Her long brown hair covered her face as they both laughed.

"I've missed you, dearest sister!" Olyvar said.

"Put me down, Olyvar," a soft voice said with an embarrassed chuckle.  
The King's Guard did as he was told and he put down a small girl with big hazel doe eyes and long, soft brown hair. She looked delicate, nervous and beautiful.

Sansa eyed Robb, unable to hide his surprise at the pleasing sight of the girl, and even Catelyn looked slightly shocked. But she quickly recovered. "Ser Olyvar, could you do us the kindness of introducing us to your sisters?"

"With pleasure, my lady! This is Sarra," he said pointing at the tall one with greasy hair who still refused to look up, "little Merianne or Merry," he continued, patting the head of the youngest one, "Sarra's twin sister Serra and," he said, smiling, clearly naming his favorite,"Roslin."

Roslin Frey looked up at Robb, rightly assuming he was king, and curtsied. "Your grace."

Robb then quickly came back into his role as king and confidently bowed his head. "My lady."

He turned to the other sisters as well. "Ladies, I welcome you to King's Landing. I hope you had a good journey. My men will escort you to your chambers to allow you to rest after such a long ride. Please, make yourselves at home."

The little one, Merry, was bouncing up and down and grabbed Roslin's hand while the other two sisters followed, looking bored, trailing behind. "He's so handsome!" Sansa heard Merry tell Roslin, and Roslin hushed her sister with a blush, hoping Robb hadn't heard.

"I apologize, ladies, but I have an urgency to attend to," Robb said, eyeing Catelyn with a meaningful look. Sansa wanted to understand which urgency he was referring to, but Robb refused to look at her. "I will leave you to the good care of my mother and sister," Robb said before hurrying away.

Sansa crossed eyes with Catelyn, neither of them looking forward to entertain the twins, and Sansa quickly took Roslin's arm, forcing her mother to deal with the other two. She gave her a cheeky, playful smile and then turned to face Roslin as they followed the guards to their chambers.

"I am glad to meet you, lady Roslin," Sansa said. "How was your journey?"

Roslin smiled. "It was… uncomfortable, honestly. I've never travelled for so long. And the company was…" She looked back at the twins. "not very pleasant."

Sansa chuckled. "They look like they've been forced into that carriage," she whispered.

Roslin sighed. "Well, father had told me I could choose one sister to bring with me, my sweetest Merry," she said, playing with her sister's hair, "and then he forced those two along. To find southern husbands. He's planning to send much more, after I... wed."

Sansa smiled, trying to hide her apprehension for a Frey flooding in King's Landing. Truth be told, Roslin didn't look too pleased at the prospect either. "Don't worry, lady Roslin," she said reassuringly, patting her arm, "us Starks don't rush into things."

Roslin smiled thankfully and let Sansa and Catelyn lead the Frey sisters to their chambers.

* * *

When her mother kissed Sansa goodnight in front of her door, Sansa smiled and slipped inside to grab a modest cloak. She waited on her balcony for a while, her eyes battling fatigue, letting the fresh air keep her awake, before noticing the night sky slowly getting lighter. _This is it,_ she thought. _The final goodbye._

Sansa's soft slippers didn't make noise as she glided through the hallways, the hood shadowing her face and hiding her hair. She had prepared herself. Her clothes were sober and she didn't wear any jewels other than her ring with the Stark sigil. She knew which way to go. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

"Don't even try to save him," her brother had told her after the trial. "Or see him, or help him in any way. He's leaving our lives for good. "

Obviously, Sansa didn't appreciate her brother ordering her around despite the power he had to do so. But she hadn't said anything at all. She had just silently accepted his command like an obedient sister and left with a curtsy. She wondered if he truly bought it. But there was no time left to wonder.

The echo of firm steps made Sansa slip behind a column. The guards marched by her hiding place in disciplined silence, and soon enough she could float through the hallways again.

The pink glow of the sunrise was starting to decorate the sky, and Sansa rushed faster along the Traitor's Walk. As expected, she saw the guards in front of the entrance to the dungeons. Only two of them, as planned. Sansa slightly nodded towards Torhen when his fellow soldier looked away, and he nodded back. The two other guards were inside the dungeons, as promised.

"Guards," Sansa said, nodding towards the armed northerners.

Torhen nodded at her, and the other one was peaking at her hooded face and suddenly recognized her. "My lady- I mean, your majesty-" he said, taken off guard.

Sansa smiled graciously. "Where's my-" she swallowed, keeping in the wrong word. "Where's the Kingslayer?"

"With all due respect, my lady, we have been warned of your possible… visit." Torhen said, playing the part. "We're not allowed to answer to you in any matters concerning Jaime Lannister."

The man next to him shuffled on his feet, insecure.

Sansa squinted her eyes and tilted her head. "What are your names?" she demanded.

"Uh… I'm Ronald, m-my lady. And this is Torhen."

Sansa smiled drily. "Ronald and Torhen," she repeated. "Am I not your princess? A Stark of Winterfell? The king's very own sister?"

"Of- of course!" the stutterer Ronald said. He didn't look like a soldier but like an insecure little man. How he had survived Robb's war, she did not understand. "I apologize, your grace. We- we don't mean no harm. It's just that… that…" He looked helplessly and desperately at Torhen for support.

"My lady," Torhen said, much more calmly. "Our personal opinion doesn't matter here, even if it _is_ in your favor. Our orders were to free the Kingslayer tonight and to keep you from him should you come. If we don't do what we're told, and it's found out, we'd be severely punished. That's not a risk we're willing to take. I sincerely apologize."

Ronald nodded, finally breathing out.

Sansa licked her lips, as if she was thinking things through. She made them wait for her reply and she noticed from the corner of her eyes that Ronald was nervously shifting his feet, watching her.

"Fine," she eventually said, breaking the silence. "I understand you perfectly. You need some sort of compensation if you're to risk a punishment, it needs to be worthwhile, doesn't it?"

Torhen looked interested and Ronald looked utterly shocked. Bribery from a Stark was probably the last thing he expected.

"Say… 20 golden dragons? Each? And maybe… 20 more if this doesn't come to light?" she proposed with a cunning smirk.

Torhen poked Ronald, and they exchanged looks. Sansa could see Ronald wasn't completely sold yet, even though Torhen had told her the panicky little man was in debt.

"And let's not forget the eternal gratitude of a princess. I will forever be in your debt. Being owed by a princess, is not nothing, is it? Imagine the favors I could grant you in the future."

Torhen looked ecstatic, just as he last had looked when she had last offered him gold. Ronald looked sold as well. They exchanged convinced looks yet again, and finally Ronald nodded eagerly.

"Agreed, my princess. You are far too generous."

Sansa smiled. "And you are far too kind, dear Ronald. If you'd do me the favor of keeping this little exchange between us? If your fellow guards were to know, they might want a share of the spoils… You understand?"

Ronald nodded and thankfully accepted the gold and slipped it in his pocket. So did Torhen.

"The Kingslayer has only just been given a horse. He went south," said Torhen. "We could escort you, for your safety of course. Everyone knows King's Landing is no safe place for a lady."

"We'll find him in no time, my lady." Ronald said with a smile.

"I would be extremely grateful," Sansa answered.

* * *

The three of them galloped through the streets in the early morning, taking Sansa to where Jaime had last been seen. They arrived in the docks, where a fish market was slowly waking up. Sansa looked around from up on her horse, trying to spot Jaime's golden hair. Or the faded version of what it once had been in all its splendor. She led her horse towards the docks, where some ships were preparing themselves for a journey. Too many eyes were noticing a auburn haired woman on a horse, so she quickly dismounted and covered her hair, hoping the modest cloth would mislead some suspicious people. She walked through the badly smelling sailors and merchants at a quick pace, bumping into far too many of them. She wasn't used to walking in such a busy crowd, and it was only morning. She couldn't imagine how busy the streets must be during the day.

Suddenly, Sansa spotted a familiar glimpse of a hooded man. He was as tall and broad as Jaime, maybe slightly thinner, and even though she could only see his back she was sure of it. _This is him._

She obviously couldn't shout his name so she slipped through the mass and grabbed his shoulder.

The man turned aggressively and a hint of surprise stopped him in his suspiciousness.

"Sansa?" he asked, as if he could scarcely believe it.

He looked older up close than he had during the trial, but less like a dog gone mad. Less arrogant also, even if that was faked arrogance. He didn't look like one of the most famous noble knights of the Seven Kingdoms at all. Not even like a Kingslayer. Relieved, she sighed.

"What on earth are you doing here?" he said, grabbing her arms as if to shield her from the commoners' prying looks.

Sansa could not answer. In truth, she didn't really know herself. "You're leaving," she said instead.

Jaime looked away, as if he was shameful.

"No, that's good," she added quickly. "I'm happy."

"I can imagine you are. You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

Sansa didn't answer, unsure of what he meant.

"You'll do well in the capital. Not as a hostage, this time, but as a princess," he said, looking pensive. "Yes, you'll do well. I might even say I'm proud."

"Where are you going?" Sansa asked.

"Hell, probably," he said casually. He looked down at his feet in embarrassment. "But I'm a coward. It was a step I just couldn't take yet. Cersei would've scolded me for it."

Sansa shook her head. Once again she was reminded of the cruel woman that had such a grip on him, even after her death. She didn't want to say that he wouldn't go to one of the seven hells, because she didn't want to lie. Of course he would. "You lack many qualities, Jaime. Bravery is not one of them."

He smiled sadly, as if he was contemplating ending it all once again. "You almost sound like her," he said with distant eyes.

Sansa sighed, growing irritated. "You're heading east, I imagine?"

"Do I have other options?"

"Where to? Braavos, Volantis, Lys?"

"Tyrosh was the earliest ship."

Sansa nodded. She had nothing left to say, so she just turned to illusionary desperation. "Why don't you give life a chance, Jaime? It might look empty without her, but you finally gained your freedom. From _her_ chains."

Jaime laughed bitterly and joylessly. "Oh please, Sansa, don't go all soft and naïve on me now. I thought that Sansa was long gone."

Sansa shook her head. This last meeting was plainly disappointing. She didn't know what she had expected, but this wasn't it. There was just nothing left for her to say. Jaime felt it.

"It looks like my ship's about to leave," he said, gesturing towards a ship with the only two sailors present, both drunk and in the company of a cheap whore.

Sansa just nodded at his lie, and silently looked at him. Their silence was both empty and full of meaning, something she'd never experienced before.

"Uh," he said awkwardly, looking for something in his pockets, "Would you keep this for me?"

He placed a ring in her hand, a simple golden loop with an emerald gem. It needed some polishing, but it was clearly a valuable object.

"I managed to hide it from the soldiers," he said. "They took everything, even my golden hand, but I kept it in my mouth until they left."

"Why are you giving me this?" she asked, confused.

"It's a ring that once belonged to my mother, I think. It's a family heirloom that has been forgotten because of its modesty, but it's the one ring I always carried around."

"I've never seen you wear it."

"I don't wear it. I keep it in my pocket."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"A one handed man with a precious ring is not a man who keeps his valuables. Keep it for me. I know a Lannister heirloom is not something you'd want to wear, but just… I don't know," he sighed. "Keep it safe. I don't want it lost in Essos. It doesn't belong in the east. It should stay here. And _you_ should wear it."

Sansa didn't really understand the value he gave to the rather plain jewel, but she overcame her Stark pride and slid the ring on her finger. She rubbed on the green of the emerald, trying to make it shine again. But like Jaime's eyes, she didn't think it ever would.

"Goodbye," she told him.

"Goodbye," he replied.

Sansa looked down at the ring on her hand, feeling like it didn't belong there. And when she looked back up, he had disappeared, and she could only catch a distant glimpse of his cloak in through the crowd, walking towards his boat.

Sansa turned her back towards him, her husband and her enemy, and walked away as well.


	28. Rivals

**Hey guys! I've got a new chapter for you right here :) Please REVIEW and tell me your thoughts, your favorite character, your criticism,... I'll take anything! :) Enjoy x**

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

The princess watched Serra forcefully smile at her with her crooked teeth and drop down in a clumsy curtsy. Sansa smiled dutifully, wondering how on earth it was possible that Walder Frey had managed to create ladies less elegant than Arya and Brienne of Tarth combined.

Roslin popped up over Serra's shoulder and walked towards the door. Her hair wasn't done yet and her dress not entirely laced up. "Princess Sansa! I did not expect you yet, forgive me. I thought luncheon would be at noon."

"It is," she replied. "But I decided to drop by to pick you up. And I brought a gift for the Frey sisters," she said, gesturing towards two guards carrying a chest inside.

"Oh, can I, can I?" Merry asked enthusiastically, jumping up and down.

Sansa nodded and laughed. "Go on."

Merry opened the lock and found an array of beautiful silks and the finest jewels. "Oh!" she gasped, running her fingers delicately along the fabric.

Even the twins couldn't hide their interest and Roslin looked embarrassed. "My lady, you are far too generous!"

"Nonsense. And I thought, lady Roslin, that this one would be just perfect for you, for the Night of the Falling Stars in a couple of days," Sansa said as she dropped down and pulled a lilac dress out of the box, as light as air and tailored to perfection. Again, Merry gasped as if she'd never seen something so beautiful. She probably never had.

Sansa was pleased that Cersei's luxurious textiles had been retailored into these breezy and elegant dresses, fit for young ladies. Catelyn's suggestion had paid off well. No one would ever even know.

Sansa grabbed a pin and pinned it in Merry's hair. "With the compliments of my brother, of course."

Merry ran to find a mirror in excitement and the twins started digging into the chest to find dresses to their liking.

"I'll be quick, my lady," Roslin said before rushing back to her handmaidens to get ready.

* * *

Sansa and Roslin sat down at a table on a sunlit terrace, waiting for Margaery.

"Uhm, so," Roslin mumbled curiously, "What's lady Margaery like?"

She was fumbling with her fingers, and looked like a nervous and impressed Rivergirl. She reminded Sansa of herself when she first arrived in King's Landing, young and excited but frightened and overwhelmed.

"She's…" Sansa didn't really know what to say. Should she warn Roslin? "Gentle, elegant, poised. Very kind, as well."

Roslin smiled. "So you two are friends?"

"Yes," Sansa replied automatically, unsure of Margaery's sincerity, "Yes, we are. From the moment she first came to King's Landing she was kind to me. Kindness is a rare thing to be given to a traitor's daughter. I'll always be grateful to her."

A group of guards escorted Margaery, dressed in a new green off-the shoulder gown embroidered with golden flowers. She looked magnificent, clearly aiming to impress. Sansa noticed Margaery had recently started to wear less provocative clothes, and Sansa assumed it was to get modest Catelyn's approval. Sansa eyed Roslin, intimidated at the sight of the beautiful daughter of a noble and rich family walking through the Red Keep's gardens as if she owned them already.

Margaery's face dropped when she got closer, noticing Roslin. Her feet lost their confident tempo and she swallowed. She looked like she was re-evaluating her entire plan in her head. The calculated Tully had clearly not expected a Frey girl to be beautiful.

Sansa rose and embraced Margaery to keep Roslin from noticing and give Margaery the opportunity to get her act together. "My dearest friend," Sansa said, reassuringly smiling at her, "Meet lady Roslin Frey."

Roslin rose and curtsied. "It's so nice to meet you, my lady."

Margaery forced a smile and got back into her role. "Lady Roslin, your arrival here has already enlightened King's Landing." Margaery reached out to Roslin's hair and twisted a lock with her finger, "You must tell me what you use to make your hair shine so!"

Roslin giggled, relieved her unknown rival was so welcoming and then gave Margaery an entire explanation on how she treated her hair while the three women sat down and Sansa and Margaery exchanged meaningful looks that Roslin didn't notice.

"So, dear Roslin," Margaery said, "You have to tell us about life at the Twins! Forgive me if this sounds blunt, but could you enlighten us on your family, and your mother? I mean, Walder Frey had so many-"

"Oh, I understand," Roslin quickly said, looking embarrassed. "My mother was Bethany Rosby, she was his sixth wife. They say she was gentle and lovely, but I don't remember her. She died when I was really young. But I've always had my brothers around, most of all Olyvar," she said with a smile, exposing her little gap between her too front teeth; the flaw made her all the more enchanting. "I've missed him terribly! As a boy, he couldn't even defeat our little brothers. Terrible, he was. When he became king Robb's squire, I thought he'd die for sure. And yet here he is."

Sansa smiled. "I understand the feeling. When I heard Robb had started a war, I thought it was a joke."

Margaery smiled. "And, Roslin, how do you find the south?"

"It's… quite a change," the girl replied with a chuckle. "I like it, I do, everything is more than I ever imagined things could be. Bigger, grander, finer, lovelier. It's quite overwhelming, really. Handmaidens here dress better than we did at the Twins."

"Well, Walder Frey does have many daughters to dress," Margaery joked.

Roslin laughed and Sansa caught Margaery's judgmental tone.

"But, oh! The sea, the knights, the sunshine, everything! It's like I dreamed it would be."

Sansa and Margaery smiled politely, both quite past the initial awe over the retched city.

A beautiful array of fresh fruit, cakes and cheese was served. Roslin eyed some of the fruits curiously, and Sansa assumed she'd never seen some of it.

"Try these lemon cakes, Roslin, they taste like summer!"

The girls chatted about trivial, meaningless things, and Margaery managed to make Roslin comfortable with warm smiles and encouraging words. Sansa slightly drifted away, her mind wandering off, her fingers playing with Jaime's ring, while the rivals kept talking.

"Yes, Grey Wind is such a grand beast! Impressive, I must admit, but quite intimidating."

"Really? Is he that big?"

"Oh, yes! Almost as large as pony, I'd say. But he doesn't scare me, I even think he likes me. The wolf is fascinating," she said, sipping on a cup of tea, "as is his owner."

Sansa wanted to tell her Robb didn't _own_ Grey Wind, but she decided to let them talk as she observed them from the corner of her eye. The girls chuckled and Roslin grew curious.

"Fascinating, you say?"

Margaery smiled, a little too satisfied with herself. "Well, what have you heard about him?" she said, leaning in.

Roslin blushed. "Oh, people say the silliest things… I heard he's the Old Gods' vengeance. I heard he's the reincarnation of Ned Stark's spirit. I heard he eats the hearts of his victims, that he bathes in their blood to gain their strength…" She laughed. "They say he can't be killed."

"It's hard not to believe that one," Margaery admitted. "He's fought so many battles, has countless scars all over him and still stands as strong as a god."

Sansa saw Roslin flinch, trying to figure out how Margaery knew he had scars all over his body. Sansa _knew_ she didn't know.

Margaery kept going as if she didn't notice Roslin trying to hide her surprise. "You'll see Roslin, he's very brave and just and kind, and handsome at that," she said with a naughty grin. "Many girls will envy the woman he'll crown!"

Roslin just chuckled like Margaery, and Sansa could see her growing insecure. The beautiful and impressive Margaery was clearly in awe of the young king, and had the charm to seduce anyone. On top of that, she hadn't acknowledged the Frey girl as the king's intended. As Roslin slowly realized she had quite a rival and started doubting her promised future, Sansa saw Margaery's satisfaction of having intimidated the innocent lady.

One of Margaery's ladies in waiting came to whisper in her ear and Margaery smiled shyly, blushing. "I'm so sorry, my ladies, but I have to go." She rose and so did Roslin and Sansa.

"We have to do this again sometime!" Margaery said. "It was lovely to meet you, lady Roslin. I feel like I've made a true friend today."

Roslin smiled dutifully and Margaery walked away, skipping like a loved up girl, whispering with her ladies in waiting.

Sansa didn't approve, but she had to admit Margaery's act had been very believable. And, according to Roslin's face, successful.

* * *

Sansa's fingers lightly stroked her silver shawl. She remembered how it had shimmered in the sun, blessing Ice as Robb brought the greatsword down onto Joffrey's neck. It had been beautiful. And now, the shawl had some deep red specks of blood staining the fabric. Her handmaidens had asked to try and wash the blood out, but Sansa had forbidden it. Joffrey's blood was not a blemish. It was the ultimate proof of her family's victory. Sansa covered her shoulders with the shawl. She decided then and there she'd wear it proudly every day. It was the softest cloth she'd ever owned.

A knock. Sansa's handmaiden opened the door and a guard stepped inside. "I'd like to talk to the princess."

Sansa nodded when she saw his face and ordered the handmaidens to leave.

"Nice shawl," he commented with a grin.

"Torhen," she said with a satisfied smile. "What do you wish to talk about?"

"I'd like to offer you my services, my lady," he said.

"You do?" Sansa said, acting surprised and pouring a cup of wine. "And why would I need your services?"

"I keep my mouth shut. I'm loyal. I do dirty work if necessary. I can go by unnoticed and I understand the ways of the South better than any other northerner," he said. "You said so yourself."

Sansa nodded, remembering the first time they'd spoken. She'd known straight away he was trustworthy. Sansa had been nervous about bribing northerners, but he had understood things immediately. And no word had been spread about her meeting with Jaime.

"As I'm sure you've heard, multiple lords are returning north with their men. Lord Mollen too, my lady. I'm one of his men. I don't wish to go home. If you request my services, I'll be able to stay."

Sansa wondered why he didn't want to go home, unlike any other northerner, but figured it was none of her business. "I will do what you ask and I'll pay you well for your discretion."

Torhen nodded, satisfied, and turned to leave.

"Oh and, Torhen?"

"Yes?" he asked.

"You said you are loyal… Who are you loyal to?"

Torhen crossed eyes with her, knowing what she meant. "You, my princess. You above all."

Sansa nodded. "Good."

* * *

 _Myrcella's POV_

"Where are you going?" Tommen asked as he saw Myrcella readying herself in front of the mirror. She wore the nicest dress she still owned and had managed to make her hair look presentable.

"I'm having dinner with Sansa and Arianne," she said.

Tommen's face brightened immediately. "Truly? With princess Arianne?"

"Yes," Myrcella said, smiling. She reached out for her brother's hands. "I will get us to leave this city, Tommen, I promise. Arianne and Oberyn will take us to Dorne with them. I know they will, they like me!"

"But Tyrion said-"

"Forget about Tyrion. Trust me. I'll marry Trystane. Maybe you could be Oberyn's squire! Or Trystane's, or Quentyn's! They accept bastards in Dorne, Tommen. I've seen it. We'll be happy in the south."

* * *

When Myrcella arrived at dinner, Sansa and Arianne were already there. Her eyes immediately noticed Sansa's already notorious silver shawl with dark stains, and she wondered if she had the right to be offended about her wearing her brother's blood as if it was an ornament. Arianne was wearing revealing clothing, as always, and had covered herself with many golden jewels. Myrcella saw on their faces that some sort of heated discussion had taken place just before her arrival that they tried to cover up with large smiles.

"Oh, Myrcella! How I've missed you!" Arianne said as she rose and embraced Myrcella. "You've only been gone for a while, but you seem to have grown still. Beautiful, of course. More beautiful than ever!"

The ladies smiled and they all sat down as their dinner got served.

"Myrcella," Arianne said, reaching out for the girl's hand, "I know now that the Starks have taken good care of you, but I've been so worried about you when I heard what happened."

Myrcella eyed Sansa, trying not to stare at Joffrey's blood specks, and smiled reassuringly at Arianne. "Tommen and I spent a while in the black cells, but soon enough Sansa had us moved. And then Ro-," Myrcella took a sip of her wine, "And then _king_ Robb freed us."

"That was very decent of him," Arianne said, playing with a lock of her thick black hair. "I have to compliment your brother, princess Sansa. He's impressed me and Oberyn both so far. Mostly me."

Sansa smiled, ignoring Arianne's flirtatious suggestion. "He'll be happy to hear that."

"Oh, don't tell him!" Arianne chuckled playfully. "You'll spoil all the fun."

Sansa seemed to be taken off guard at how open Arianne was about her pursue or Robb. Arianne didn't see it, but it was obvious to Myrcella. She felt uncomfortable about it too.

"He needs to do his best, does he not?" the Dornish princess continued casually.

Myrcella stared at Arianne blanky, listening to her talk about her admiration of Robb. She went on and on about how brave and strong and handsome he was.

"You're-" she said, interrupting the princess, "You're pursuing the king?"

Arianne took a sip of her wine. "My dear, who isn't?"

Myrcella swallowed. Pieces were slowly falling into their places. She had completely misread the situation. Arianne had not come for her, but for the young king in search of a wife.

"I'm of age. It is only natural I explore my options before I tie myself to one man for life. And the King of the Seven Kingdoms is quite a good catch. _Especially_ this one."

Arianne laughed, ignoring the uncomfortable tension. Sansa seemed to be elsewhere, stroking her shawl and staring at her ring, looking tired, and Myrcella was plainly hurt. If Arianne didn't care for her, no one would. And she just _had_ to go for Robb of all people. Myrcella didn't like to admit it, but it stung. The idea of them together bothered her. Arianne and Robb were just so different.

"A princess of Dorne and a lord of Winterfell," Arianne continued, "I quite like the sound of it. I imagine the whole realm would. The south and the north brought together in the capital, to unite Westeros."

"What makes you think _he_ likes the sound of that?" Myrcella spat.

The Dornish princess' smile disappeared as she analyzed Myrcella's behavior. Sansa seemed taken aback by Myrcella's, a properly-raised _bastard_ , rudeness to Arianne.

"Myrcella," Sansa warned disapprovingly.

"I just- I just mean that you're not the only one after him. Maybe he's thinking his options through as well."

Arianne's cocky smile came back. "Dear, who's up against me? I've seen the Frey girl, she is indeed unexpectedly pretty, but she's only a Frey. It made sense to marry a Frey during the war for their men, and maybe she would've made due for a King in the North, but he's King of all the Seven Kingdoms now. He needs allies stronger than the Freys."

"Margaery could be his ally," Myrcella blurted out.  
Arianne's lips twitched and she forced a confident smile. "She could. The Tyrells would be powerful allies too. But the Tyrells aren't very trustworthy, are they? As soon as the tide turns, their alliances shift. First it was Renly, then Joffrey, now Robb? What if he gets in trouble? Will they turn against him as well and push her into the arms of the next king? The Tyrells change alliances faster than Robert Baratheon changed whores."

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but Myrcella beat her to it. "Aren't you the heir to Dorne? Back in Sunspear, it was all you used to talk about. How badly you wanted to rule your homeland. And suddenly, you wish to abandon Dorne and go for the Seven Kingdoms?"

"It's called ambition, Myrcella. And self-preservation."

Sansa seemed puzzled at Arianne's words, but Myrcella knew exactly what she meant. Arianne's father ruled Dorne, but she had told Myrcella that she was certain he hated her and wanted to pass her along to give the throne to her younger brother Quentyn. Only in Dorne a firstborn woman could be the heir, and Arianne doubted he wished to obey that law. He had presented her with awful suitors in the past, the worst possible matches, old and weak lowborn noblemen, and she'd been greatly offended. He had kept her from powerful suitors like Willas Tyrell and Renly Baratheon. Her father was cold and distant to her, and Arianne had told Myrcella in confidence that she had found a halfwritten letter her father had once written to Quentyn in which he said that his son would one day rule Dorne.

Arianne was an ambitious woman; she had clear plans on how she'd one day strengthen her homeland. But her father did not see an heir in her. So, Myrcella guessed that Arianne had decided to find a crown some other way. Myrcella could not imagine how satisfied Arianne would be with herself if she found herself in a higher position than her father and brother. And based on the look on Arianne's face, Myrcella assumed she was right about everything.

"Myrcella," Sansa said with a smile, pretending she didn't notice the meaningful looks between Arianne and Myrcella. "I nearly forgot, but I have something for you."

Sansa motioned towards a guard who came forward and handed her some sort of jewel.

"It's a Lannister necklace, like the ones your mother used to wear," Sansa said, putting the ornament into Myrcella's hand. "Your brother once gave it to me, and I recently found it again. I thought you might want it."

Myrcella stared at the type of necklace she had seen so many times on her mother's neck, with the golden Lannister lion engraved on a red medallion. She didn't know what to think.

"I'm not a Lannister." Myrcella held the necklace tightly and then put it down on the table. "I'm a Waters. It would be inappropriate for me to wear."

Arianne uncomfortably shifted on her seat and Sansa cleared her throat. "You should still have it. There's no reason for me to keep it. And besides, the gold suits you."

Myrcella forced a polite smile. "Thank you. Trystane will like it. He says that all the time."

Arianne cleared her throat and put her right leg over her left leg, only to switch again.

Myrcella eyed Arianne suspiciously. "What?"

Sansa looked away and Arianne escaped Myrcella's interrogating look.

"What?" Myrcella asked again, trying and failing to keep her voice from breaking. She felt it in her belly, that feeling when you know something's wrong but you don't want to realize what's wrong.

Myrcella felt numb when Arianne took her hand into hers.

"You're not going to marry Trystane. Nor are you coming back to Dorne."

Myrcella stared at her with big empty eyes. She had felt it coming, and now she felt nothing at all.

"You're born out of wedlock. Out of incest. A prince of Dorne cannot marry the late queen and Kingslayer's bastard."

The late queen and Kingslayer's bastard stared at her hand, locked inside two warm and olive hands decorated with expensive rings.

"I care for you, Myrcella, I do. And everyone's going to miss you in Dorne. But we just _can't_."

Myrcella could see her entire future collapse in front of her eyes. If the Dornish couldn't even take her in, who would? A bastard born out of incest. Which man was ever going to want to marry her? Which lady was ever going to want to befriend her? Where would she live out the rest of her days? What would happen to Tommen? Myrcella had never felt more lost, more unsure about everything. There was nothing she could expect, she tried so hard to imagine _something_ but thinking of her future only resulted in a big blank image. The only think she _knew_ was that the sight of her hand into Arianne's was something she didn't want to see. _Betrayal_ , she thought. _The Martells betrayed me._

Myrcella tried to pull her hand out of Arianne's.

"Myrcella? Do you have nothing to say?"

Her hand escaped Arianne's and the princess sighed. "Myrce-"

"I have to go," she just said, getting up from her chair.

"Dear, don't-" Arianne pleaded, but, again, Myrcella cut her off.

"I have nothing left to say to you."

Myrcella ran all the way back to her chambers, fighting back the tears. Weeks ago she was the princess of the Seven Kingdoms. She was nothing now. No possessions, no name, not even a slight idea of a future. Nothing.

When Sansa came over that night with the necklace and her apologies, Myrcella forgot her anger towards her and fell into her arms, crying like the silly child she was.


	29. Betrayal

**Hey guys! I'm soooo sorry for this delay. Please forgive me, I promise I didn't forget the story :) Here you go, new chapter! Please REVIEW that makes me very happy and more likely to post a new chapter sooner rather than later ;) And also I'd just want to ask you if it bothers you that the 3 contenders' POV are not shown? I go with Margaery for this, cause she's been in the story the longest. Please tell me if you'd like Roslin/Arianne's POV, or if you think it's not necessary. ENJOY & REVIEW**

* * *

 _Margaery's POV_

The Rose of Highgarden stood on the balcony, watching over the gardens. Her ladies in waiting were sitting at the table in the shade, chattering about meaningless things. Margaery had been standing there, her eyes looking for silhouettes she knew, walking through the gardens. She squinted her eyes when she saw a glimpse of a grey form running fast and scaring people. Grey Wind. She instantly started looking for Robb, but was disappointed when she saw it was only Sansa taking the direwolf outside. Arianne Martell was with her, tagging along, the girls had crossed their arms and Arianne was seemingly telling a story Sansa was only half listening to. A wave of worry hit Margaery; the princess of Dorne was getting close to the sister of the king, who was supposed to be Margaery's friend. Her grandmother had told her it was vital that she keep Sansa close, to be her favorite contender.

The Blue Bard and the other musicians started singing a ritmic song, and the girls started dancing cheerfully. "Margaery, come dance!" they shouted.

Margaery ignored them, suddenly seeing Robb in the gardens. She wanted to go join him, _accidentally_ run into him, but before she could even move she saw he wasn't sitting by the fountain alone, but with Myrcella. They were talking, nothing more, but Margaery thought she noticed something off in Myrcella's behavior. She was touching her hair and smiling at him a lot, and even though she was far too far away to actually be sure of it, Margaery was sure she could see a sort of blush on her cheeks. She had never paid much attention to Myrcella, after all, the girl was now a worthless bastard. But now, she was wondering if there was more to her. The girl was undeniably beautiful, had grown into a woman in Dorne, her skin was tan and her hair light and her smile luminous. She had an innocent brightness about her. Was she shrewder than Margaery thought? Was she trying to be the King's favorite, and receive the benefits that befit such a position? To share his bed, bear his bastards and rule the court beside his Queen?

"Lady Margaery, come bless us with your dancing skills!" the Blue Bard yelled as he started her favorite ballad.

Margaery sat down on a chair, resting her head on her hand. No, Myrcella couldn't be planning anything. She couldn't possibly be that clever. And besides, Robb was far too honorable to have a mistress. He was a Stark, he'd remain faithful to his Queen, and even if he didn't, he'd never humiliate his wife by openly honoring his mistress. It wasn't possible.

The door opened and lady Olenna walked in. She dismissed the musicians and the ladies quietly disappeared. She walked to the balcony. "It appears we might have another obstacle," she said.

Margaery looked at her incredulously. Had she, from her own balcony, just seen the same thing as her granddaughter? The likenesses between her and her grandmother made her chuckle.

"What are you smiling about?" Olenna asked as she sat down across from her, picking grapes from the fruit bowl. "Even that bastard is ahead of you."

Margaery's smile dropped. "That's not true."

"You only had one conversation with him, my dear."

"It was a good conversation."

"If he takes a liking to that bastard, who knows? If he beds her, the noble Stark might end up marrying her!"

Margaery chuckled incredulously. "He wouldn't be that stupid," but the look on her grandmother's face reminded her of Ned Stark's stupidity down south.

"If he spends more time with a bastard girl than with 3 noble ladies all desperate to marry him, it's safe to say there's a problem."

Margaery sighed, rubbing her eyes.

"Don't do that dear, you look gasthly."

"What do you want me to do, then?" Margaery asked, agitated. "I am out of ideas!"

Olenna leaned towards her. "It shows."

Margaery raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"It shows that you're distraught. Insecure. Desperate. That Dornish whore and that pretty Frey girl are stepping on your toes, and now Cersei's bastard is as well? People are whispering."

Margaery got up, walking around in a tense and restless manner. "I need something they don't have."

"Exactly. If seducing the King doesn't work as well as we'd thought, and seducing the sister isn't enough, you'll have to seduce someone else."

"Who on earth is there left to seduce?"

* * *

"Enter," lady Catelyn said when Margaery's guard knocked.

"Good day, lady Catelyn."

"Hello, Margaery," Catelyn said, putting down her embroidery. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

A guard walked in, carrying an enormous vase with beautiful flowers. "The harvest's been, once again, very blessed for the Reach," Margaery said with a smile. "More than that. Beautiful flowers have grown all over the fields. I wanted _you_ to have the first assortment."

Catelyn rose, admiring the flowers. "Beautiful! I've never seen orange flowers like these," she said, touching the bright petals.

"Fire lilies, my lady," Margaery said. "A new species we've started growing in Highgarden. They're quite rare."

"Thank you, lady Margaery. You are very kind. Come sit with me," Catelyn said, and they sat down at the window. Margaery observed the woman as she put her embroidery aside. Her hands were elegant and her cheekbones high like Sansa's, and she had the very same haunting blue eyes as Sansa and Robb. She looked at least 5 years older than Cersei, even though they had the same age. Margaery wondered which had aged her; time or loss. She had been beautiful for sure, but it seemed like war had drained her. Yet her grace had remained.

"Highgarden must be very beautiful this time of year," Catelyn said.

Margaery smiled brightly. "It must be. The flowers are all blooming now, I've heard."

"You must miss it greatly."

"I do. I miss my brothers, and my friends, and the view," she smiled, remembering her home, but then saw Catelyn staring out the window with melancholy. "But probably not as much as you miss Winterfell."

Catelyn flinched and Margaery could see the pain on her face. But before she could say anything, Margaery took her hand.

"My father wants you to know, my lady, that the forces of the Reach will be happy to help reconquer the North and chase the Greyjoys away if asked. Winterfell belongs to the Starks. The Tyrells will do _anything_ to help."

Catelyn smiled gratefully; "My son will be happy to hear it." She observed Margaery, seemingly thinking her words through. Then, she poured them both some tea. "Tell me, lady Margaery, I've heard you've tried to betroth my sister to your brother Willas a while ago?"

"Yes," Margaery answered, calculating her answer, "Your daughter was very unhappy in King's Landing. I thought she'd be safe in Highgarden, away from the queen and Joffrey, and with Willas. He's very gallant and gentle, and I'm sure they would've been happy together. But Tywin Lannister heard of it, and intervened quickly. As soon as Jaime got here, they were married. There was nothing we could do."

Catelyn squinted her eyes listening to Margaery, and it made the girl nervous. She was listening to her every word, like she was evaluating her. But she didn't say anything about it.

"Margaery, you often do charity work, don't you?" she asked, blowing on her tea.

"Yes, I do," Margaery said, relieved. "Many nobles down south are quite repulsed by the poor, but I've heard that it's different up North?"

"The gap between noblemen and commoners is less significant in the North, yes. But I don't think we do your kind of charity."

"Orphans are my main passion. I couldn't imagine living without my parents, without a family. They're often not taken care of properly. They lack food, housing, clothing, proper attention. So, I like to visit them, and to help in any way I can."

Catelyn smiled approvingly. "I imagine you're quite popular among the poor."

"The people tend to like those who feed them," Margaery said with a chuckle.

Catelyn nodded and sipped at her tea. She understood the message. Margaery had a feeling she could read her much better than most could and it made her uncomfortable.

"There has been peace and prosperity in King's Landing ever since Robb won the war. The people know this and are grateful."

"That's not entirely correct, my lady. There's been peace and prosperity in King's Landing ever since the _Tyrells_ allied themselves with the crown and silenced the troublemakers with nutrition."

Margaery chuckled nervously. It was clear Catelyn had a more southern touch regarding court intrigue and power than Robb. She could see through the Tyrells, Margaery felt it. But it didn't matter. What mattered was her response to it. She was intelligent. Surely she could see the Starks _needed_ the Tyrells?

Yet Catelyn wasn't saying anything, observing Margaery. So the girl nervously kept talking. "I've been to a market down at Flea Bottom recently, and they were all talking about how happy they were about king Robb. He's much different than Joffrey. He's considerate of them, he gave them time to mourn and pardoned all the soldiers fighting against him. Joffrey would not have given them such mercy. They know that."

Catelyn looked pensive. "I'll talk to my son about your charity work. Maybe he could accompany you on one of your trips?"

The cunning rose of Highgarden smiled, trying to contain her content. Olenna would be pleased. It was a small triumph, but an important one. "He would be more than welcome."

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

Sansa's handmaidens were getting her ready when Torhen arrived. "Come in, I'll be quick."

Torhen entered, admiring her chambers. He walked around, taking all the richness in. He touched her curtains, seemingly surprised at the softness and transparence. Eventually, his eyes landed on her handmaidens. Sansa rolled her eyes.

"Torhen, I need you to do something for me," Sansa said as one handmaiden lightly powdered her face and the other dabbed a greasy and pink substance onto her lips.

Torhen observed the process, looking confused. "I- I thought I was escorting you to the barracks?"

"You are. And when we get back, I need you to find someone for me." Sansa's handmaidens moved onto her hair, pulling top locks back in elegant twists. Torhen stared at the handmaiden's hands' intricate work like it was the most impressive thing he'd ever seen someone do.

Torhen leaned against the wall. "Who's that?"

Her hair was ready and Sansa dismissed her handmaidens. As soon as they left, she turned to Torhen. "Shae. She used to be my handmaiden, I haven't seen her since the battle."

"Hate to break it to ya, my lady, but she's most probably dead."

Sansa glared at him. "No. Shae's very capable of defending herself. And her body was nowhere found. Make sure you ask around the castle. She's quite petite, has black hair and a foreign accent from Volantis. And whenever you take a break from looking for her, you'll find me a new handmaiden."

"You've already got maids. Very capable ones at that," he said, awkwardly pointing at her hair. "Never knew they could do that with just their fingers. And so fast!"

"They're either Varys' spies or Littlefinger's. I'm betting on Baelish. I want a trustworthy handmaiden. A smart and loyal one."

"Fine," he said, sighing. "I've got my work cut out for me. And here I thought I'd live an easy live."

Sansa smiled. "I'm not paying you so much for nothing."

* * *

The barracks were less crowded that night than they had been the last time she'd been there. Many beds were empty, some were covered with a sheet, a visible contour of a dead man's body underneath it. The smell was worse than last time, but less overwhelming.

"Princess Sansa!" the Grand Maester said, surprised, rising slowly from his seat. It took him an eternity to reach her. Sansa heard Torhen sigh of annoyance behind her.

"How can I assist you?"

"No need to assist me, Grand Maester. I came by to see how the wounded were doing, if you need anything. And to know when these barracks can be used again."

"In a fortnight, I'd say, the barracks will be empty by then. Everyone will be healed enough to leave."

Sansa smiled. "The crown thanks you and the Silent Sisters for your efforts."

The Grand Maester sat back down and Sansa walked through the beds, trying to not look too eager to go find someone. She smiled at the healing soldiers, surprised to see her. She made small supportive talk with some of them, all the while wondering why what had been Tobias' bed was now empty. She kept looking around, to see if they'd moved him. He couldn't possibly have left already.

She walked towards his bed. The sheets hadn't been removed and looked like they'd been freshly used. Her hand ran across the coarse textile, remembering the feel of it against her skin. He wouldn't have left without seeing her first. It just couldn't be true. She had said she'd come back.

"They came to get him," a weak voice said with a grunt. Sansa looked up; the wounded man across from Tobias' bed looked at her.

"What?"

"Yesterday, I think, or the night before. They came," he said, before a bad cough interrupted him. Sansa rushed over to the man and helped him up. She arranged his pillow and he leaned against the wall. "They came, a couple of soldiers or knights, I don't know, I was half asleep." He breathed heavily and coughed a little more. "They took him."

Sansa didn't know what to think. "Did he go willingly?"

"There wouldn't be at least 4 armed men if they thought he'd come willingly."

"Did you hear anything of what they said? Did you recognize someone, a voice, a sigil, anything?"

"I didn't hear. Half deaf," he said, pointing at the gruesome gaping hole on the right side of his face, "But they were tall, broad, bearded, pale. Not from the south, I think."

Sansa stood. She knew what that meant. The man continued coughing, but she didn't hear it anymore. She paced passed the Grand Maester and Torhen, heading out of the barracks and ignoring their calls. Torhen caught up to her. "My lady, where are you going so fast?"

"We're paying a visit to my brother."

* * *

Balon Swann and Patrik Mallister were guarding Robb's doors when Sansa arrived.

"Princess-" they tried, but Sansa burst inside Robb's study without listening.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

He was in the company of Mace Tyrell and Tyrion Lannister, all sitting around his desk. They were discussing the imminent arrival of the lords and ladies arriving for the ball. Sansa was clearly disturbing.

"Princess Sansa, I'm busy," Robb said disapprovingly.

Sansa pursed her lips to keep from yelling and stared him down.

The men eyed Robb and he nodded with a sigh. Quietly, they left.

"Sansa, you can't just barge in on-"

"What did you do to Tobias Lance?"

Robb said nothing, he just stared at her. Sansa had hoped he'd deny, but he just looked at her.

"Where did he go, Robb?"

"He left."

Both pairs of icy blue eyes stared at each other, neither backing down.

"Why?"

"It was high time for him to leave King's Landing."

Sansa tilted her head. "That was not your call."

"Oh, but it was."

Sansa shook her head in disbelief. She felt her cheeks get warmer, and it was not a mere blush. "How _dare_ you." Her voice trembled in anger, and she hoped she wouldn't cry. She didn't want to cry. She wanted to yell.

"As the head of House Stark, I decided to send away the man who might've stained your good name. Your reputation."

"You are my brother." Yet he looked so strange to her. Like she was seeing him for the first time.

Robb rose, suddenly towering over her. "Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do. I am your brother, but I am also your King. Don't forget that."

Robb's face was hard like he'd never been before. "You put _everything_ on the line. And for what?"

"It was nothing!" she yelled. "You sent him away for nothing!"

The doors opened and Catelyn walked in. "Nothing? If it was nothing, Sansa, you wouldn't here throwing a fit and embarrassing yourself over it."

Sansa turned towards her mother, incredulous. She hadn't thought of her involvement.

"Don't yell at your brother. If you must yell, yell at me. Your brother merely informed me of what he knew. I made the decision. I sent him away."

Sansa stared at her, her mouth open, feeling like she didn't know her mother at all.

"Where did he go?"

"He left!" Catelyn answered. "Do you have _any_ idea how lucky you are that you came out of this lion's den untouched? Unblemished? Your honor preserved? I did _not_ raise you this way! Where's your dignity, your propriety, your decorum? You _did_ put everything on the line! And for what? For a stupid hedge night who got to your head with pretty lies and soft kisses? Are you an idiot? Giving away your most prized possession to _that_?"

Sansa couldn't believe her. "You think I came out of that marriage untouched? Unblemished? I almost jumped off his bloody balcony!" she screamed. She heard the echo of her voice carry and felt the tears fall down her cheeks. "Why does the fact that he didn't force himself on me make everything fine? I'm not carrying a Lannister, my maidenhead is intact, and that's all that matters to you? You know _nothing_ of what I endured here! Neither of you! You were off fighting a war and I was here, on my own, staring at father's cut off head and suffering for _your_ victories!"

Catelyn and Robb were staring at her and she could see the shame in their eyes. But they weren't ashamed of themselves. They were ashamed of _her_. The only thing that mattered to them was the worth of a Stark's maidenhead.

Sansa felt sick to her stomach and turned towards the doors. But she stopped before she opened them. "You're supposed to be my family and you betrayed me."

Catelyn shook her head. "Don't you dare, Sansa. You betrayed yourself."


	30. Bare and weak

**Hey guys! I'm sorry it's been so long. You'll have to tell me what you think about this chapter, about what happened (predictable? unpredictable?) and mostly about the writing because I'm not really sure about it. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review, I need to know your thoughts! Happy reading :)**

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

"And?" Sansa asked as Torhen entered her chambers. "What did he say?"

He shook his head. "None of the Silent Sisters could help, they say they were busy cutting a man's leg off that night. No one was supervising the beds."

"So someone was bribed."

"Probably. Anyway, the man's dead."

Sansa put her cup of tea down on the table. "What?"

"The soldier you talked to. His body was still warm, but he was dead. For a minute there I thought he had been smothered or something, but he still had money in his pockets and no man would leave his victim without robbing the corpse. So he just died on his own, I guess. You were lucky you caught him on time."

Sansa silently stared through the window, thinking things through. "So you have no information to give me whatsoever."

Torhen almost looked offended at that comment. "I didn't spend all day looking for that knight to come back to you _empty handed_. He's staying at an inn on the King's Road near Brindlewood."

Sansa looked up at him, her eyes large and her mouth open. He grinned, looking quite proud. "So princess, do I deserve a raise?"

Sansa rose from her seat. "Let's go."

"Go? Now? It's getting dark already."

"Perfect." Sansa grabbed her cloak and covered her face with the shadow of her hood. Only the shimmer of Jaime's ring could betray who the dark silhouette was. "Let's go."

* * *

It was near midnight when Sansa finally spotted the light and chimney smoke of a comfortable looking inn. The ride had been longer than expected and she was starting to feel sore. She grinned at the thought of her mother and brother, probably having dinner together and reveling in their little triumph to 'save' her reputation. If only they knew where she was now.

Sansa had never been more disgusted by her own family. The way they had gone behind her back was just so appalling. Their betrayal had hit her hard and unexpectedly.

 _Are you an idiot? Giving away your most prized possession to that?_ If her brother and mother thought so little of her already, thinking she'd already given her maidenhead to him, then what was withholding her from actually doing it? Half the people in the Seven Kingdoms thought she had lied about the consummation of her marriage to Jaime anyway, so what harm could it possibly do? Claiming non-consummation had only been necessary to save Jaime's life, and more people doubted her word than trusted it.

However, the truth was simple; any man in the Seven Kingdoms would marry her without a second thought. She could have a belly round with a bastard whilst walking down the aisle, and it _still_ wouldn't change anything. She was the princess, the king's sole heir. Whatever he lost was her birthright. Even a fool knew that.  
She had finally understood that this truth was liberating; she could be free to love until marriage. And if Tobias had to leave, she could still feel his love one last time.

"Princess," Torhen said carefully. Sansa rolled her eyes. He had been trying to convince her to go back for hours. "What about the king and the queen mother? If they heard about this, they'd-"

"To hell with my brother and mother."

"Maybe you should think things through before you make any impulsive and spiteful decisions. There _are_ other ways to anger your brother and mother, trust me."

Their horses came to a stop in front of the inn and Sansa hopped off, ignoring him. Torhen led the horses to the stables. "If you wait a minute, I'll escort you-"

"No," Sansa replied. "It will attract too much attention. Just have a drink and pretend you don't know me." She didn't wait for his answer and slipped inside the warm inn.

The fire was crackling in the fireplace and men were chattering, drinking and laughing as some bards played music. A man looked busy as he sat at a table alone, penning things down in a big book. Sansa walked towards him, guessing he was the innkeeper.

"Is this your inn?"

The man looked up from his book. He squinted at her, which made his face even more wrinkly than it already was. He observed her, looking her up and down, probably noticing her high quality clothing. She was glad the hood was hiding her red Tully hair. He might've just figured out her identity. A young, noble and beautiful girl with red hair and blue eyes. There weren't many of them.

"This is not an inn for rich folks. I don't even have rooms left."

Sansa shook her head. "Is there a Tobias Lance in here?"

"Tobias Lance," he said, tasting the name and checking his memory. Then, the man looked surprised, leaned back and grinned. He was missing some of his teeth. "That pretty boy?"

"What's his room?" she asked, ignoring him.

He made a sound somewhere in between laughing and coughing. "Room four."

Sansa placed three gold coins on the table. His eyes widened.

"You might want to keep quiet," she said with a polite but firm smile.

"M'lady, you could find cheaper at a brothel," he snickered, but when she made the move to take the money back, he quickly grabbed the coins and put them in his pocket.

Sansa nodded and found an untouched cup of wine on the table. She gulped it all down, and then poured herself a second cup that went right down her throat too. The wine was tasteless but strong. She needed a little bit of courage. Her eyes found Torhen's, who was sitting at a table, drinking ale. If this night wouldn't spark rumors in the palace halls, she'd know for sure he was trustworthy.

Sansa walked up the stairs. The inn smelled of fire and cheap ale. The hallway was narrow. She looked for the door with the number four on it and knocked before she allowed herself to think.

"Who is it?" she heard a familiar voice ask as the door opened.

Tobias stared at her, mouth open and eyes wide. His hair was damp and his tunic was loose, exposing the top of his chest. Sansa could tell he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, just the way she liked it. "Wh... Wha-"

"Hi," she said, leaning in to kiss him, her fingers caressing his stubble.

Tobias felt numb under her lips, still slightly in shock. He pulled back. "Sansa," he warned, and he quickly moved to close the door behind her.

Sansa walked in and took her cloak off.

"What on earth are you doing here? What if anyone recognized you?"

"No one did and no one will," she answered.

"What if the king finds out?" His voice was more serious than before and she noticed he looked actually worried.

"He won't," she lied reassuringly. "You need to relax." Her lips leaned into his and he found it harder to resist this time. His hand went to her back and pressed her close to him. After a while, he pulled back.

"Sansa," he moaned. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what?" she asked with an incredulous, innocent chuckle. "You didn't think I'd just let them take you away from me, did you? I had to see you."

"You shouldn't have." He sat down on the bed, his head leaning on his hand. "You shouldn't have," he repeated with a whisper.

Sansa felt insecure about his unexpected reaction, but she decided not to show him. He loved her, she knew it. So she removed her belt and undid the knot that held her gown tightly together.

Tobias looked up, and shook his head with a warning look in his eyes. But he didn't move or say anything. He just looked.

While she listened to the soothing crackles of the fire in the fireplace and the sound of his breath Sansa undid the laces at the side of her dress. It fell off, and she just stood there in the light shift that served as undergarment. Tobias didn't try to avert his eyes, he just stared in awe at the shape of her body shining through the translucent fabric.

Sansa was starting to doubt herself at the absence of a reaction and decided to force one. She took a step towards him and reached out to his face, but he caught her hand midair.

"Sansa," he repeated warningly, "It's not a good idea."

"It is."

His protest was fairly weak, so she guided the hand he was holding hers with towards her chest. Midway, she hesitated and placed it half on her breast and half on her waist. His warm hand laid there while his thumb stroked the bottom of her breast. His touch made her skin tingle. He was breathing heavily, and Sansa was relieved her bold move hadn't been rejected. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in when suddenly, he pulled her onto his lap and planted a soft kiss on her lips. Pretty quickly, he got hungry and the kiss became passionate as he bit and sucked her bottom lip like he'd never done to her before. Sansa was surprised and caught off guard, but she tried to keep up at the new pace he had set. His hand started running all over her body and started yanking at her shift.

He seemingly grew frustrated, trying to get her out of her shift with only one hand, and before she could help him she felt her shift rip. She let out a gasp of surprise and chuckled, while his hand started running over her bare back and pulled the shift down to her waist, exposing her chest.

Tobias pulled back and gazed at her body in admiration, and again Sansa grew self-conscious of her nakedness. She hoped he liked what he saw, and was relieved when he started leaving a trail of kisses down her neck and collarbone towards her breasts. Sansa quivered and under every kiss her skin tingled.

Tobias lifted her from his lap to lay her down on the furs of the bed. He removed his tunic and Sansa noticed the bulge in his breeches that fueled the eagerness in his actions. She was apprehensive of it and excited at the same time, but Tobias kept confusing her mind by kissing her all over her skin. She could think only of what she felt in her body and nothing else. Her ripped shift slipped off of her and there she was, entirely nude under him. For some reason, this time she didn't feel insecure or self-conscious. It felt right to have him looking at her, to have him touching and kissing her skin.

Tobias stopped and pushed himself up on his arms to get a better look at her. His eyes went up and down her body.

"Gods, Sansa," he breathed. "How can you be so beautiful?"

Sansa reached to kiss him and pull him back closer to her, which he did but with more hesitation than before. She wanted him to think of only her naked body below his like he had probably been doing only minutes ago, but she could see something was troubling him. She supposed it was his conscience and honor, telling him not to dishonor a maiden and a lady, so she made sure her kisses were hungrier in order to cloud his judgment like he had clouded hers. It seemed to work, because he leaned back in and his hand slid up her thigh and his fingers made her gasp for air. Sansa's back curved, pressing her body against his and her hands started fiddling with his breeches. _I choose him_ , she told herself, _I choose him because he is gentle and brave and loves me._

She was starting to untie the knot when suddenly Tobias pushed himself up and away from her. "You need to stop," he said, breathing quickly. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back towards her.

Sansa was confused and crawled onto her knees. _He's just trying to be honorable. I just have to assure him again._ "I want you," she whispered, and she crawled towards him. She kissed his shoulder. "I choose you."

She could see that his breeches were almost exploding with lust and figured she was doing well. She continued kissing his shoulder, making sure he could feel the brush of her breasts against his back while her fingers stroked his chest. She let her fingers slide lower and lower while she kissed his neck but when she reached his breaches, he got up violently, pushing her back on the bed.

"I told you to stop," Tobias said, agitated. He paced around the room, leaving Sansa hurt, confused and naked in his bed.

 _Why is he rejecting me?_ she asked herself, her body growing colder by the second. She felt exposed and anxious, and grabbed a fur to cover her body. "What's wrong?" she asked, offended.

He kept pacing around the room, breathing heavily. "You _shouldn't_ choose me. I'm no good."

"What are you talking about?" she yelled, confused and angry.

She was naked and cold and abandoned in his bed, and when tobias opened the door, Sansa thought she could already hear her heart breaking. "Don't you dare leave me here like this!" Her voice broke and she couldn't fight back the tears anymore.

He looked back at her, his face looking like he'd been tortured. But then he exhaled, shut his eyes and closed the door.

Sansa's breathing calmed down and her tears stopped flowing. With wet and hurt eyes, she stared at him, standing in front of the door, turned towards her. He looked at the fire, and then at her dress, and at her ripped shift and back at the fire.

"Look at me," she ordered, more demanding, her voice still shaking.

Reluctantly, he obeyed. His silver eyes seemed to be full of shame and guilt. Then, he grabbed a brown pouch from the dresser and threw it onto the bed. Sansa stared at the golden coins spilling out.

"I was paid."

Sansa's mind went blank.

"To keep you close. To... charm you into forsaking your honor. So he could have leverage over you. Knowledge. Threats. Sansa, I didn't kno-"

She didn't listen to his words anymore. All she could think of was the person that had succeeded into making her weak. "Who?"

He inhaled. "Littlefinger."

Sansa's vision blurred as she tried to stay composed. Too many thoughts were going through her head to focus on one. To stop her hurried breathing from panicking her, she held her breath in completely, biting her lip.

"Sansa," he said with a pleading voice as he came closer, "You need to know that I do love you, that was real. I wasn't supposed to, but you're just... I didn't-"

"Get out of my sight."

Tobias looked almost as hurt as she felt deceived. Her voice had turned hard and cold. But she didn't care. She just couldn't bear to look at him. All she could think of was the betrayal. The lies. He had left her bare and weak, for someone else's gain.

His voice broke too. "Sansa, please, I just don't-"

"Get out before I call Torhen up to cut your throat." Her eyes clashed with his, and he backed away.

She stared blankly at the fire until he left. When she heard the door close, she puffed and puffed and tears streamed down her face and she cried out in pain. She tried to get out of the bed, to stand, but she stumbled and fell onto her knees. With a blurred vision, she tried to put her torn shift back on, but she struggled because of her shaking fingers. When she was done, she felt as if it was the most exhausting thing she'd ever done and laid down on the wooden floor. It was cold and hard, but she couldn't stand lying on his bed. She listened to the calming sound of the fire crackling, but it only reminded her of when she had taken her shift of for him, and she started sobbing again. She brought her knees up to her chest and held them there, curled up into a ball, whilst feeling her sticky tears wet her hair and the floor, until what felt like hours later, Torhen came upstairs to carry her back home.


	31. Preparations

**Hey there! Finally a new chapter :) Sorry for the wait but since the last chapter barely got any reviews I had kind of lost my motivation. From now on, I'll ask a minimum of 15 reviews before updating (10 for this chapter because it's not that eventful), if that helps motivating you guys to write them! I really need feedback. One specific question on this chapter: I haven't read the books, therefore my knowledge on Arianne and her personality is quite limited. Tell me if her POV part seems to fit her well enough, or if it makes her a completely different character than she is? Please enjoy and review!**

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

Sansa woke up to the sound of a handmaiden drawing a bath for her. She opened her eyes, looking at a short and curvy blonde girl. The girl looked young, innocent and quite dimwitted.

"Who are you?"

The girl looked up and saw Sansa was awake. She curtsied, quite flawlessly. "Apologies, my princess, I hope I haven't woken you. I'm your new handmaiden."

Sansa stared at her, confused. She was always disoriented in the morning. "Who told you that?"

"He said that his name was Torhen."

The princess' mind started working. Yes, she had told Torhen to find her a loyal handmaiden. And he had sent this one to draw her a bath, and also probably to report to him how she was, because it would not be proper for him to do it himself.

She scarcely remembered anything that had happened after Torhen had found her on the flour. She assumed he had tried to dress her as best as he could, because she didn't remember being cold. He probably would've covered her hair and face and would've carried her outside, placing her in front of him on his horse, and leading the other one back to the Red Keep. She remembered riding into the stables at dawn, only half awake, and him putting her to bed because he couldn't have called for some maid to help, since it all had to happen discreetly.

She didn't want to remember what had happened before all that.

"My lady, do you wish for me to go or should I help you bathe?" the girl asked with a strange accent.

Sansa crawled out of her bed while the girl opened the curtains to her terrace, letting the sunlight in. "Where are you from?"

"The Three Sisters, my lady. Longsister, to be exact."

"And where did you learn to speak properly?"

The girl blushed and smiled, probably proud it was acknowledged. "I spent quite some time with noble folks." The girl rushed over to help Sansa undress. "Goodness, it's torn! I'll stitch it up for you in no time, my lady."

"No need," Sansa responded, looking at the torn shift and pushing the memory of it away. "Throw it away."

She stepped into the bath, letting the warm water soothe her. She observed the girl carefully, to avoid thinking about anything else. She looked polite and courteous, but just didn't seem like the clever handmaiden she had asked for. Her voice was high and annoyingly perky. "What's your name?"

"Tamsy, my lady."

"Tamsy." Gods, even her name sounded stupid. The girl undid Sansa's bed to wash the sheets. She was pretty, Sansa noticed. Her looks did not catch the eye, but once you looked at her, you could see she was attractive enough to entice someone if she wanted to. She had a heart-shaped face, a button nose and pink lips. Her hair wasn't particularly long or voluminous, but it was a bright and lovely color. Her hips were wide and her breasts round. Sansa was beginning to worry Torhen had chosen the girl only to gawk at her figure in Sansa's presence.

"Tell me, Tamsy, how did you end up here, in the Red Keep?"

Tamsy smiled, flattered by the princess' interest in her. "Well, the Three Sisters are small and poor. I was born there, but, quite by accident, actually, I ended up on the mainland. I was only 13 and it was the biggest blessing of my life. I joined a group of actors and travelled through the Seven Kingdoms, until, again, by accident, I ended up at the Dun Fort in Duskendale. I served house Rykker there, for 3 years, mainly as lady Rykker's handmaiden. But, by accident, I got kicked out and I ended up in King's Landing. I was one of this palace's seamstresses when Torhen presented me with this opportunity. "

Sansa figured her 'accidents' were probably quite entertaining stories. And that Torhen had selected her quite randomly. Nothing about her life story pointed towards being a useful asset to her. "You've had an eventful life."

Tamsy laughed. "Not compared to you, my lady. I've heard some stories about you!"

Sansa smiled joylessly.

"Oh, my lady, I nearly forgot, your gown for tonight is ready!" Tamsy said, excited. She got up and took a brand new dress out of Sansa's closet. It was a beautiful soft, golden white, with a form-fitting Myrish lace off-the-shoulder bodice, with sheer sleeves and a flowing skirt. She could tell her mother's instructions for the dress had had one clear goal: to make her look young and virginal, like the maiden she claimed to be. She wasn't wearing it yet, but despite the obvious intention of her mother that turned her stomach, she could tell it would be the most beautiful dress she'd ever worn.

"Breathtaking, Tamsy," Sansa smiled politely. "Did you help on that dress?"

Tamsy beamed. "I sew the small beads onto the lace. Intricate work! The lace on the cuffs wasn't easy either. We've been making that dress for 5 weeks. You'll look mesmerizing at the ball, tonight, my princess. The lords will line up for the chance at a dance with you! Oh, I've seen many of them arrive yesterday. Have you? Lords from the Reach, the Stormlands, the Vale. Some of them are quite dashing! Ladies have also arrived for a chance at a dance with the king, though I doubt he'd give any of them much attention when he already has the ladies Margaery and Arianne and that Frey girl pining over him. I've heard lady Arianne has gone all out with her dress! Part of the bodice is rumored to be transparent. Lady Margaery has heard about it, and she's ordered her seamstresses to make her something even better! All the ladies in the hall will be fighting for attention, it'll be quite something to watch."

Sansa had stopped listening a while ago, but the girl certainly knew her gossip. She'd probably heard every rumor there was.

Sansa hoped she'd remember everyone's name in time tonight. In contrary to the ecstatic Tamsy, the princess was already tired at the thought of the duties of her long evening, making conversation and dancing with tons of lords and ladies invited to attend the new Crown's first ball. It was the excellent opportunity to try and woo the king and the princess, and many had eagerly accepted the customary invitation her mother had sent out a moon ago.

After her bath, Tamsy dressed Sansa in her robe. The girl chatted casually about trivial things, and when she was done Sansa sent her to go find Torhen as she went to sit by her window.

"Good morning, my princess," Torhen said as he entered Sansa's chambers.

Sansa smiled welcoming. His face looked serious, worried and when he opened his mouth to speak she cut him off. "I seem to have a new handmaiden."

Torhen looked confused, and then remembered. "Oh, yes, that's right! What did you think of her?"

Sansa brought a cup of tea to her mouth. "I'm trying to understand why you picked her. I asked clever and loyal, not talkative and shapely."

Torhen grinned. "I can't speak for her loyalty, but I have a feeling she'll serve you well. She's no idiot. She's clever, I can promise you that. She also knows everything about everyone in this palace, it's insane. Let her prove herself to you."

Sansa sighed. "She looks dumb and naïve."

Torhen chuckled. "She does. That's _exactly_ why she's an interesting servant. If she were to, let's say, pass by a potential enemy's chamber, for instance Littlefinger, to report to you what she's heard, no one would look at her twice. At first sight, she's plain and stupid. Not a threat at all. I mean, she was an actress. I have a feeling she was a good one."

"Why, did she feign pleasure at your touch so very well?" Sansa asked.

Torhen grinned, pleasantly surprised by her boldness. "If you must know, my lady, I didn't share her bed."

"Good. Don't. It would be improper. Besides, I don't think I could bear to be constantly surrounded by two lovebirds."

Torhen remained silent, looking at her. The mood had shifted, despite her attempts to avoid the subject of yesterday.

Sansa stared at her tea. There was no use to keep avoiding the subject. She felt a lump in her throat. "I am grateful for everything you did yesterday."

"Really? I'm relieved. I wasn't sure if you wanted him dead."

Sansa stared at the sky. It was a clear, blue sky. It would be just perfect for the evening of diplomatic star-gazing awaiting her. "He doesn't need to stop breathing to be dead to me."

Torhen shifted on his feet. Sansa looked at him. He was debating on whether to tell her something, she could see it. "What is it, Torhen?"

He cleared his throat and took a pouch out of his pocket. "I brought you some herbs. Just in case." He handed the pouch over to her.

Sansa swallowed. _Moon tea_. "How did you get this?" She hoped Tamsy didn't know. She would be forced to keep her.

"A... friend of mine gave me some, I said it was for some girl I'd impregnated. She assured me-"

Sansa assumed he meant a whore and put the pouch down. "You overstepped, Torhen." She looked up at him, remembering how he had seen her in a terribly weak and bare state yesterday, figuring it was her fault he had exceeded the regular limits of a sworn sword. "But I appreciate your concern."

"My lady, if you'll allow me to overstep some more, I just want to say... all wounds heal."

Sansa chuckled at his attempt to console her with cheesy wisdom. "Is that so?"

Torhen poured himself a cup of her tea without asking. Then, he sat down. "You see, there was this girl." He sipped the tea and made a face, but forced himself to keep drinking.

Sansa smiled, leaning towards him as if he was going to tell her a secret. She observed him, and really looked at him for the first time. He must have been around the age of 26 or so, but his face looked slightly older. His brown hair was always messy, and his beard contained a few auburn streaks. She tried to imagine what he had looked like years ago, before the beard and the scars on his cheek and nose, before the war had turned him into a man.

"She had light blonde curls, the softest hair I've ever felt. She was a tavern girl called Molly, short and slightly chubby." He chuckled. "Every time I finished hunting with my brothers, I went to her tavern to ruin myself on pints of beer just because I wanted to see her. It took me months before I finally mustered up the courage to speak to her. And then we'd meet at night, behind the baker's shop, and we'd whisper and dance and giggle. She laughed at everything I'd say. I thought 'I'm going to marry this girl', and I started building a house that we could live in, just the two of us. I was waiting to finish building it to ask for her hand."

Sansa smiled at the thought of a love-struck Torhen. It was hard to imagine him dancing, or to imagine him excited at the prospect of having only one woman.

Torhen put his cup of tea down on the table and sighed. "And then, suddenly, she was with child. And I just thought we'd have to marry sooner than I anticipated. Her belly was slightly starting to swell when I left for Deepwood Motte to go buy materials for the house and a crib. When I came back, she didn't need a crib. Her husband had one made already."

Sansa looked at the pained expression on his face, startled by the turn his confession had taken.

"I remember how beautiful she looked when she told me it wasn't my child anymore. She wore the best necklace in the village. It surely befitted the new wife of the richest man in the village."

Torhen scratched his beard and closed his eyes, before opening them again. "The baker asked for her hand two days after I'd left and she'd accepted. He was rich. Well, maybe not to you, but he was the man people went to when they needed a loan or something. He was our very own Tywin Lannister."

Sansa remained silent, and so did Torhen. He stared out the window. "I loved her. I would've loved our babe. But when she married him, she took the babe away from me."

"Is that why you wish to stay in the South?"

Torhen looked at her. "I left because I knew I couldn't bear to see her pass off my child as his. And she wanted me to leave. As long as I was around, her secret wouldn't be safe. If I had wanted to tell him, at any time, he could've killed them both. No rage is greater than that of a betrayed husband. I couldn't go back now. It'd kill me, and maybe my child as well."

Sansa rose, trying to lighten up the mood with a cheeky smile. "I thought you were going to try and cheer me up."

Torhen chuckled. "That was the plan. Dunno why I thought that story could help."

"Your wounds didn't heal."

"It's the babe, Sansa. Not her. The memory of losing her no longer pains me. But knowing my child is up north, calling the baker its father... I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl. I don't know if it's alive, if Molly's alive. I left for good."

Sansa tried to smile. "Don't tell me no other girl has managed to fill the hole Molly left."

Torhen grinned. "There aren't many girls in military camps, my lady. The war was long. But since the victory, _many_ girls have allowed me to... catch up."

Sansa rolled her eyes and Torhen chuckled. Then, he stood and bowed. "Anything else?"

"Have Tamsy report to me what Littlefinger does today."

Torhen raised his eyebrow. "You're trusting her already?"

"I'm trusting you. _And_ I'm trusting her ability not to let him know he's being observed."

Torhen nodded. "I'll have it done."

"And, Torhen?"

"Yes?"

"Let's not talk about the past night ever again."

* * *

That afternoon, Sansa had to keep up a façade. Courtesy is a lady's armour. She would keep going regularly, as if today was just another day. As if yesterday had also just been another day.

She knocked on Myrcella's door.

"Sansa?" she asked, opening the door with a surprised look on her face. She then dropped down in a flawless curtsy worthy of the courteous princess she had once been, as if to make up for the fact that she had addressed the princess with only her name.

"Myrcella. How are you doing?"

Sansa walked into the girl's chamber for the first time and felt quit uncomfortable. Myrcella's old chambers had been five times the size of this one, and far more regal. A girl like Myrcella didn't belong in there.

"What are you doing here? Don't you have a late luncheon, or something, to attend to? With so many lords and ladies coming down to the capital, you shouldn't be wasting your time on me."

Sansa stopped in her tracks. It was true that as a princess, she should've been long solicited by her brother or mother to have dinner or luncheon with some important people, or to go hunting or having a walk with some other important people. But it seemed her mother and brother had thought her unfit to pick up her duties since they suspected her of misconduct. They would dress her up perfectly for the evening, Robb would dance with her, Catelyn would chat with her, all for the sake of the way it looked. Sansa feared they were turning far more southern than she expected. Or perhaps it was just Catelyn's southern nature, long suppressed in Winterfell, at work here.

"I'm... Going to make a grand entrance at the feast," Sansa said quickly with a smile. "I'll be diplomatic the entire week after that."

"Oh," Myrcella murmured. "Well, I hope you'll enjoy yourself tonight. They're dressing up the Queen's Ballroom quite nicely, just as the gardens. It's probably going to be beautiful."

Sansa tilted her head, suddenly suspicious. "You're coming tonight, right?"

"Why would I? Bastards aren't invited."

"Everyone in the Red Keep is invited!" Sansa exclaimed, even though she had no idea if that was true.

"Don't worry about it, Sansa, besides, I don't even have a dress."

Sansa looked down at Myrcella's ragged, overused pink dress. It was at least three years old, and it looked too small. Sansa felt guilty for having neglected her.

"I'll get you a dress in no time. You're coming, you and Tommen both."

"It would be improper-" Myrcella refused weakly.

"I'm the king's sister and that's the way I'll have it. You are _my_ guest tonight."

Myrcella smiled thankfully. Sansa remembered how she'd always enjoyed dances and balls. She wouldn't take this party away from her, even if it was to sit nowhere near the dais she used to sit on.

"I'll need your help to find those god awful Frey twins husbands."

Myrcella giggled. "That sounds like an impossible task."

* * *

 _Arianne POV_

The princess of Dorne observed her image in the mirror. Her figure was covered in expensive silks, in the rare color of deep amaranth purple, and golden embellishments. Her hair, for once, was up, to allow people to admire her back necklace, decorated by dozens of little fire opals and complimenting her bare and tanned back. She swirled in front of the glass, admiring herself. She was pleased with the seamstresses' work. Her enhanced beauty would outshine most other women that night. She could think of only Sansa and Margaery to match her. Sansa was not her competitor, so her beauty didn't matter. She just hoped she hadn't put too much effort into making that Frey girl presentable. It only left Margaery. Arianne had managed to bribe some seamstresses to report to her what that girl was up to, but had heard 5 completely different reports. The Tyrell's cunningness infuriated her.

"Ah, my beautiful niece!"

Oberyn came walking in and gave Arianne a kiss. "You went all out, I see. I wonder how many people we could feed with the cost of that dress."

Arianne laughed. "How pious have you suddenly become?"

"Your father won't be pleased when he hears how much you spent on a dress to seduce a king he doesn't want you to marry."

Arianne waved the comment away and sat down at her vanity, allowing the servants to make her up. "I won't let him dictate my life. I'll marry who I please."

Oberyn served himself a cup of wine, and swallowed it down with a grimace. He clearly missed the Dornish wine. He looked at her pensively.

"What is it?" she asked, suspicious. Sometimes, it felt like he wasn't telling her everything.

"Are you sure you're pursuing the Stark boy for the right reasons?"

Arianne scoffed. "What are right reasons? He's young, strong and handsome, outshining already every other suitor that was ever presented to me by father. _And_ he bears a crown. He seems to be kind and just. What more does a girl need?"

"You can't be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms _and_ the Princess of Dorne at the same time."

Arianne looked away from him. If she truly thought her father would trust her with that position one day, then maybe she hadn't been here. She loved Dorne. But she knew he intended to crown Quentyn; her brother had gone east, surely to come back with an army and claim her position as heir. It left her with little choice.

"Another letter arrived today," Oberyn said.

Arianne sighed, accepted her father's letter and threw it into the fire. She had already read a dozen of letters begging her not to go after Robb, and this one was not going to change her mind either. Arianne didn't understand her father. It was clear he hated her and didn't want her to inherit Dorne. But she didn't expect him to hate her that much to try and stop her from making a great match that would keep her far _away_ from Dorne, one that would allow Quentyn to take _her_ rightful place. His actions confused her; it was like he didn't even know what he wanted.

"I could do far worse than Robb Stark."

"He'll bore you and you know it," Oberyn said, sitting down on the table.

Arianne refused to look at him and rolled her eyes. But she didn't answer. He was probably right. Robb was young and handsome, strong and kind, but he was a Stark. All about honor. Their marriage would soon lead to her looking the other way, something a queen couldn't afford. Arianne liked beautiful and dangerous men, and this one was far from thrilling enough to keep her interested for a lifetime.

"You enjoy the chase," Oberyn continued, "and what if all your efforts pay off? You'll marry him, enjoy blissful months in his bed, and soon tire of him. I can see it working, you've made many knights forsake their vows for you. Maybe he will forsake his vow to Walder Frey as well. But in the long run, I can't see it being a happy marriage. Starks are far too dull for you."

Arianne sighed. " _You're_ boring me. Since when am I chasing a happy marriage? I'm chasing power, uncle. Two _very_ different things."

Oberyn sighed, defeated. "Fine. I did my best. I should've sent you back to Sunspear when you first joined my party to King's Landing, it would've saved me a lot of trouble. I've been hearing and reading Doran's whining long enough."

Arianne smiled mischievously. When her father had refused her request to join Oberyn to King's Landing, she had managed to escape and join it anyway. She hadn't wanted to pass up the opportunity to meet Robb Stark in the event of his victory. And if the Lannisters had won, she would've just joined Oberyn in his quest to avenge Elia.

"I hear the Tyrell girl has befriended Catelyn Stark," said Oberyn, changing the subject.

"That bitch is getting on my nerves."

Oberyn laughed warmly. "Tyrells and Martells have never gotten along."

"Maybe you shouldn't have crippled Willas."

"Maybe you shouldn't have come here to steal Margaery's prey."

Arianne grinned, and so did he. Stealing Margaery's prey was a prospect that amused her far too much.

* * *

 _Roslin's POV_

Merry jumped around in the chambers, tiring her sisters with endless chatter. The girl gasped at the sight of Roslin. "Oh! It's so pretty!" she exclaimed at the sight of her gown.  
Roslin smiled shyly, proud of the soft lilac dress princess Sansa had gifted her. It fit her like a glove, making her look like an enchanting maiden. She wondered if she'd enchant Robb, but she suppressed the thought immediately, far too audacious. She had no idea how to enchant anyone, let alone a king chased by all the Seven Kingdoms' finest ladies.

"Roslin, he'll fall in love with you in a second, I know it!" Merry giggled happily. She went to the chest of silks and jewels the Starks had gifted them, and dug into it. "I'll find the perfect jewel for you. Silver or gold?"

"Silver, I think."

Roslin played with her flutter sleeve, and for the hundredth time doubted her hair. It was half up and half down, but there was nothing more to it than that. She was sure other girls would have more complicated hairdos. Certainly Margaery.

Merry came running towards her and presented her selection of jewels to her. "I was thinking you could wear the necklace with the broche, but I also love these earrings, so maybe you should forget about bracelets because I –"

"I like that necklace," Roslin said, picking up a flower-shaped crystal. "And maybe I could pin these winged things into my hair."

Merry couldn't hide her excitement as Roslin added the final touches to her look. "Can I wear these earrings then?"

Roslin smiled and nodded. Olyvar entered the Freys' chambers and smiled brightly at Roslin. "Look at you!"

Roslin embraced him nervously.

"What's wrong?" Olyvar asked, sensing her anxiousness.

"I'm scared for tonight."

"Why should you be scared? It's a feast and a ball. It's supposed to be fun."

"It's about way more than just fun, Olyvar," Roslin said. "So many important people will be there."

"That's normal, it's the first celebration under Robb's rule. You shouldn't be nervous."

"But I should," Roslin said hastily. "There's the lady Margaery and the princess Arianne. More will come. When I came here, I thought for sure I was going to marry the king. No one had warned me."

Olyvar caressed his sister's hair, trying to calm her down. "Robb is a Stark. I know him. He'll keep true to his word. All those ladies will be wasting their time on him. He'll marry you."

Roslin looked up at Olyvar, hope sparking in her eyes. "How do you know? Did he talk about me?"

Olyvar batted his eyes, searching for a memory. When the searching took too long, Roslin went back to sulking hopelessly. "What will I do, Olyvar? I don't want to go back to the Twins. And I don't think I could bear the shame of rejection."

"Don't talk like that! You have just as much of a chance with him as Margaery and Arianne! Don't cut yourself short; you're beautiful and poised and gentle. _And_ he made a vow. Nothing means more to Starks than honor."

Roslin smiled at Olyvar reassuringly. She reached for a hug, and in his arms she wondered if anyone in King's Landing truly believed she would marry the king, for she had lost all hope already.


	32. Competition

**I AM SO VERY VERY VERY SORRY FOR THE FOUR MONTHS I MADE YOU WAIT! After my exams I thought I could go back to writing but the summer was much busier than I anticipated. I can assure you I have never forgotten about the story, do not plan on stopping anytime soon, still got big plans for it! I apologize for the long break and hope it hasn't put anyone off from following the story :(**

 **Please enjoy, a second part for the Night of the Falling Stars is coming (hopefully soon!). AND I BEG YOU please review I won't update without at least ten more reviews :) love you all**

 **Ps; the first part of this chapter was posted in May, I wrote there that I would delete that chapter and repost a longer version cause I don't like keeping 1000-word chapters, but I seem to have just replaced the content of this chapter so that's why not everyone can review again.** **Send me a PM if you want! (I hope that explanation was clear)**

* * *

 _Robb's POV_

"You have to be very careful tonight, Robb," Catelyn said, watching her son's servant brush off his new tunic. The color was a royal blue one, that made his eyes pop and contrasted his hair. It was clearly an expensive tunic, with intricate yet subtle golden embroidery, designed to make him look royal yet solemn, a king and a Stark, and all it made Robb feel was uncomfortable to have spent so much on clothes. But his mother had insisted.

She rose and walked towards the table on which his crowns and a couple of jewels were presented. "Is a crown too much for an informal event?" she asked, more to herself than to him. She laughed. "I spent too much time in the north. Of course a crown isn't fit for a ball. You should wear a necklace instead."

"I'm not wearing jewelry," Robb scoffed. "This is ostentatious enough already."

Catelyn sighed, but didn't insist. "At least wear a ring," she tried, handing him a bronze ring, designed to look like his crown.

Robb sat down and stared through the window silently. Sometimes, he liked to watch over King's Landing and imagine lives for the vague moving silhouettes of his subjects. He felt disconnected from them, unlike in Winterfell. "How careful?" he asked.

Catelyn went to stand by the window he was staring through. "Give them equal attention. Don't do anything to upset the Tyrells or the Martells. If you dance a second dance with one of them, you should try to dance a second one with the other two. Be charming and polite. And dance your first dance with your sister." She tilted her head and smiled. "You'll make a fine pair. Sansa is a beautiful dancer."

"She is."

Catelyn shook her head to shake the image of her daughter out of her brain. "Robb. People are getting itchy. Soon enough, you'll have to marry. It's time to think about choosing."

Robb sighed, irritated, rubbing his forehead. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Use your head, Robb, that's all I'm asking. You're not just picking a wife, you're picking an ally, a partner, a queen. She'll raise your heir. Pick one that'll raise him well."

Robb stood. He hated talking about it. The act only made it clearer he had no idea what to do. Picking one would insult the other two's families. But he had to pick one. "War was easier than this."

Catelyn laughed. "Just wait until you actually marry her."

Robb smiled sadly. Years ago, he had looked ahead with anticipation to marrying and having a loving marriage like that of his parents. Now the thought of marrying made his stomach turn in knots.

"You're no slave of your honor, Robb, try to remember that. Family and duty come first. Do what's best for your family and your kingdoms."

* * *

 _Sansa's POV_

Sansa lightly dabbed the slightly purple red color onto her lips while Tamsy placed the flower crown onto her loose, wavy hair. The flowers were called baby's breath, the perfect choice for her virginal look. _As if I've never been married_. She forced herself to take off Jaime's ring and replace it with one that would match her.

Tamsy looked at Sansa's reflection proudly. "You are breathtaking, my princess."

Sansa had to admit she looked like a princess. And a maiden ready to be sold like a broodmare. The dress reminded her of her wedding gown as it was just as flowy. But her wedding gown had been a cold silver, while this one was a warm white carrying a golden glow. Even still, she felt just as icy as when she had to walk down the aisle surrounded by enemies.

A knock.

"It's time," Tamsy said.

Torhen opened the door and waited for Sansa to join him. He smiled at her.

"Did you clean up for this?" Sansa asked with a grin, looking at his brushed beard.

"I found a piece of cheese I ate a month ago. It was still quite good."

Sansa laughed. "Don't get too drunk tonight."

"Not until you're safely in your bed, my lady. After that, I can't promise anything."

Sansa and Torhen walked to the Queen's Ballroom. The hallways were empty, as Sansa had decided to be fashionably late. Even the hallways were decorated with hundreds of candles, as if they were a promise of the supposed falling stars the night would show, like the maesters had assured.

"You'll be seated on your brother's left," Torhen said. "And I'll be watching over your shoulder, behind the pillar."

Sansa laughed. "It's strange."

"What?"

"I'm nervous."

"Come on," Torhen scoffed. "You're a princess. And a natural, at that."

It would be an evening filled with empty courtesies and pretended smiles. All of a sudden, Sansa wished to be back in Winterfell. She had never had to pretend anything there.

"Go," Torhen said, nodding towards the open doors. She could already hear the music and the chatter and the laughs. She just had to enter.

Sansa took a deep breath and entered, standing at the top of the stairs. She vaguely noticed people stopping in their tracks, looking up at her. So she gracefully walked down the stairs, trying to find a balance between the royal confidence and virginal innocence she had to embody. She felt comfortable only by the knowledge Torhen was behind her. At the bottom of the stairs, she was met by Robb, looking unsettlingly regal, holding a hand out for her. He smiled at her, and strangely enough it seemed a warm smile.

Sansa smiled back, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. Her eyes were hard.

"You're beautiful, sister." Robb kissed her cheek, pretending not to notice. "Join us for dinner."

Robb led her through the tables, while she politely smiled at those curtsying for them. She crossed eyes with Oberyn Martell, eating yet looking hungry, with an unknown tall, handsome blonde looking awestruck and eventually, she crossed eyes with Petyr Baelish. His eyes didn't speak, but sure sent a shiver down her spine.

Sansa sat down next to her brother and accepted her icy cold mother's welcome kiss. Seated on the dais, she had a perfect view over everyone. She could see Olyvar laughing with a beautifully intimidated Roslin looking shyly up at Robb, trying to catch his eyes, Myrcella talking only to her brother, ignored by others at her table, Arianne laughing loudly and seductively shaking her hair, and Margaery looking stunning, standing next to her complementary brothers, in a long, soft green silk dress with sheer sleeves decorated with golden drops, her hair loose instead of intricately done. The undone (yet probably very carefully done) look of her hair invited people to imagine her in bed, a gesture likely aimed at Robb.

Sansa sighed, while her uncle Edmure on her left struck up a conversation with her. She looked over her shoulder at Torhen, indeed watching over her from behind the pillar, and handed him a piece of fruit from the countless plates on the table. He smiled, she smiled, but quickly she felt a soft kick from under the table, her brother telling her to resume her duties. So, she picked up her cup of wine, pretended to listen to Edmure, and observed the room. It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

After the fifty-five course feast, found a humble amount by most southerners but more than enough by Robb, and the mindless chatter with Edmure next to a silent Robb, Sansa found herself being flung from knight to lord at the start of every new melody. They all flocked around her, waiting for their chance. She found herself in the arms of ser Arys Oakheart, and looked over to Robb, now dancing with Roslin. After having danced with Sansa, he had taken on Arianne and Margaery, and finally Roslin. She was beaming, looking up at him with a radiant smile, while he smiled courteously and attempted pleasant, superficial conversation.

"You are truly beautiful tonight, my princess," ser Arys said.

"And you are a beautiful dancer, ser Arys," Sansa replied. "What a change after Mace Tyrell!" she whispered.

Arys laughed. Sansa knew he was fond of gossip. "I saw he almost tripped. Did he drink?"

"I'm afraid not, ser Arys. That's just how he dances."

Arys and Sansa kept on making fun of some stuck-up noblemen and women until the song stopped and it was time to change partners. Arys kissed her hand and before she even had the chance to take one step towards the dais to sit and have a drink, a tall and broad blonde man appeared in front of her.

"Princess Sansa, this hall is made brighter by your presence," he said.

Sansa raised an eyebrow, almost amused by the terrible quality of his line. "I do not believe we have met?"

"Ser Harrold Hardyng," he said. His voice was quite low and strong. "Would you honour me with this dance?"

Sansa's feet were begging her to sit down, but duty made her smile and accept. This man was the probable heir to the Vale and could not be refused. He offered his arm, and Sansa longingly looked at Robb sitting down, managing to escape from the flock of young ladies, some of them giggling and blushing when offered a mere glance. Sansa rolled her eyes at the sight of the dumb silly girls, profoundly jealous of their ignorance of the ways of the world.

The musicians took up a tune, and Sansa suddenly found herself dancing.

"I have to say, my princess, you look truly enchanting. Tales don't do your beauty justice."

Sansa had to keep herself form yawning. Sly compliments make a dance seem rather long. "Haven't you already said the hall is made brighter by my presence?"

Harrold looked confused. "Well..."

Sansa laughed. "If you were a fifth brother, you'd have a hard time finding a wife with lines like that. I truly hope you joust better than you talk."

For a moment, Harrold considered what she said, before bursting out in laughter. "Am I so terrible?"

"Yes," she answered with a cheeky smile. His talk was terrible because as a handsome young heir, he didn't need good lines. She had heard from ser Arys that he had a bastard or two already.

He looked amused. "I joust quite well, actually."

"You'll have the chance to prove that in five days. I don't know if it has been announced already, but my brother the king thought it was time for a jousting tournament. As many of the country's best knights are all gathered here, it would be a waste of talent if we didn't, wouldn't it?"

Harrold grinned, looking eager. "Indeed it would. I look forward to it."

"Tell me, ser Harrold, as I imagine you have a certain knowledge about these things, should I bet on you? Or on ser Loras, what do you think?"

Ser Harrold's eyes widened. "My princess bets? That's not very ladylike, is it?"

"Are you an expert on what is and isn't ladylike? Should I be concerned, ser Harrold?"

He laughed. "I'd personally bet on your brother, as he _is_ the king. Kings tend to win these things."

Sansa laughed. "My brother is not very fond of unfair games, ser Harrold. Besides, he wouldn't participate. Starks don't joust."

"Ah, no, that is true, forgive me for forgetting. It will be an open tournament then. Is there some sort of... price? For the victor?" he asked, his eyebrows going up, giving him a naughty, boyish look. He grinned, and she realized that he _was_ as handsome as they said he was.

A tournament for her hand. As if the choice of a husband for a princess would be left up to fate. "I fear I must disappoint you, ser Harrold. _That_ tournament... will be far more difficult to win."

"I look forward to the challenge."

The music came to an end, and ser Harrold kissed her hand graciously, his lips lingering on her skin longer than propriety allows. After he walked away, she turned towards the dais, but was interrupted in her tracks to her seat and her goblet by Oberyn Martell.

"Princess Sansa. Would yet another compliment flatter or bore you?" He gave her a charming smile.

"I'm sure you can guess that answer on your own, prince Oberyn."

"One might think that, but you are far more difficult to read than I anticipated."

Sansa's eyebrow rose. "And can I ask what you expected before meeting me, then?"

Oberyn grinned, thrilled at having grasped her attention. "My imagination is not always fit to discuss at court, my princess."

Sansa wondered where he got the balls to talk to a princess like that. Maybe he just felt she'd play along instead of being easily offended, but usually, he just made her uncomfortably blush.

"Why are you here, prince Oberyn?" Sansa asked, picking up a goblet of wine from a table and gulping it down as elegantly as possible. "For princess Arianne?"

"Do you think princess Arianne truly needs me?" he asked with a chuckle.

They looked over at Arianne, leaning over Robb's table and laughing seductively as if he'd just made a joke. She looked truly stunning, the richly deep purple color of her light fabric bringing out the dark twinkle in her eyes, but what mostly caught the eye was the gold shimmering in the light on her tan and bare back.

"She looks like she's doing just fine on her own."

Oberyn smiled. "Indeed. She's a big girl. But Arianne often... loses herself in her personal quests. A very passionate girl. I, on the other hand, am here for house Martell. Not that I am any less passionate..." he added with a wink.

Sansa had a servant refill her cup, ignoring his comment and tried to drink more gracefully this time. "And what does house Martell want?"

"Do you want the truth, my princess? I'll tell you the simple truth, for everyone present here truly. This is a competition." He clincked his goblet to hers. "First prize is your brother, second prize is you. That's all there is to it."

Sansa didn't know if it was Oberyn or the wine, but she was starting to feel amused and comfortable instead of feeling offended at being called a second price. "Isn't it a bit greedy to go for first _and_ second place?"

Oberyn grinned. "Tell that to Olenna Tyrell. She just sent Margaery to talk with Robb and sent Loras and Garlan your way. Their crippled brother can't vouch for himself, you see."

Sansa turned around and she was met by Garlan and Loras Tyrell, as Oberyn said. She turned her head, and he was gone.

"Princess Sansa," Garlan said. "What an honor to meet you. My family has told me many great things about you."

Sansa smiled. "It is an honor to meet you as well, ser Garlan. Margaery seems delighted at your presence."

"I am glad to be reunited with my family as well, even if it is just for a while. I'll have to return to Highgarden, poor Willas is being abandoned. Used as he is to a big family, he must be terribly bored."

Loras laughed and Sansa smiled.

"He wanted us to tell you he would've loved to come. He's so deeply sorry he wasn't able to."

"He honours his duty," Sansa said approvingly, as if what kept him in Highgarden was his duty to rule in his father's absence instead of his crippled legs. "There's nothing to forgive."

Garlan's wife Leonette joined them, and the three Tyrells continued to talk with admiration of Highgarden and Willas. Sansa kept smiling, looking interested, wondering if Olenna would be pleased with their not-so-discreet execution of her orders. Not all the Tyrell children were as cunning as Margaery.

Margaery suddenly came by, stealing Sansa away from her family.

"I'm so sorry, Sansa!" she said with a laugh. "They were quite eager to talk with you. I'm sure you've had a tiring evening already. It seems like you've been dancing forever!"

Sansa smiled, glad to be taken away from the crowd. They sat down on an isolated bench.

"You have the most impressive seamstresses, I must say."

"They're quite good at making me look maidenly, aren't they?"

Margaery smiled sadly and chuckled uncomfortably. "Do you miss Jaime?"

It was the first time someone had asked Sansa this. She was startled and didn't really know what to answer. "I just... I just don't like that they're pretending it never happened. Pretending I never married. But I did. Even though it wasn't consummated, even though we weren't committed to one another, we _were_ married."

"I know," Margaery said reassuringly.

"I wonder what he's doing. Where he is. If he even is alive."

"What matters is he's gone. You're free. You deserve a husband that loves you, Sansa, that will do anything for you."

 _Do you mean Willas?_ Sansa wanted to ask, but she swallowed the words back in.

Roslin came over timidly, scanning Sansa's face for some sort of sign she was welcome to join their conversation. Sansa forced a smile, and Roslin smiled relieved whilst walking over.

"Roslin, how do you like this feast?" Sansa asked.

"It's much better than those at the Twins!" she giggled. "You must be exhausted, Sansa, you've been dancing all evening!"

Sansa smiled. "Duty. It's quite tiring to smile and talk and dance with everyone, I'll grant you that." She laughed. "I'm so glad the gown fits you perfectly, Roslin. You look like an angel."

Roslin blushed and threw her long brown hair over her shoulder. Dimples appeared in her cheeks as she smiled.

"You must taste this wine, Roslin!" Margaery said enthusiastically, waving a servant over. "It's Arbor gold. Stronger than the other wine, but far better."

"I'm not sure if I should..."

"Oh nonsense!" Margaery answered, handing Roslin a cup and taking one for herself. She waved someone else over. Garlan came, and a tall, young man with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes. He had to be slightly younger than Garlan, and eyed Sansa with curious eyes.

"Princess Sansa, lady Roslin, allow me to introduce to you Alekyne Florent. He joined Garlan from Hightower on his way over here."

Alekyne gracefully greeted Sansa and Roslin while Sansa dug through her memory to remember what she knew about house Florent. House Florent didn't rule Hightower, lord Leyton Hightower did. But, if Sansa remembered correctly, Leyton was married to a Florent. The seat of house Florent was Brightwater Keep and lord Alister Florent, before dying, had been punished by the Iron Throne for pledging allegiance to Stannis Baratheon and his castle had been granted to... Garlan Tyrell.

"Forgive me, I didn't know of your presence here," Sansa said.

"It wasn't planned, my lady. Garlan invited me to join him here. And I am very happy that I did. King's Landing is most grand."

"Garlan? I didn't know you were friends."

Garlan Tyrell had a strange smile appear on his face, before eyeing Margaery and straightening his expression. "Our friendship is new, my princess. But I appreciate lord Alekyne's company."

"And how is Hightower, lord Alekyne?" Sansa asked. She assumed he had sought for refuge in his sister's home. He was an heir without a heritage now. "I've heard it's most impressive. Taller than the Wall, right?"

"I assume the Wall is more impressive, my princess," Alekyne chuckled, "but it is quite something. I suppose I've seen it too often to be in awe by it."

Margaery grabbed Sansa's arm and leaned in. "Alekyne is a very good singer," she chuckled, looking teasingly at him.

Alekyne blushed and grinned. "My lady, I will not let you spread dishonoring rumors about me."

Margaery laughed and got up. "Dance with me, my lord. I will get a song out of you. And if that doesn't work, Roslin will dance with you, and Sansa will, and we will keep on going until you sing."

Margaery walked away with Alekyne and Garlan, laughing as if they'd known each other for years, and left Sansa and Roslin look at them go. Margaery looked mesmerizing on the dancefloor, flowing, laughing, playful.

Sansa turned her head towards Roslin, who was still looking at them. Her big innocent doe eyes were following Margaery dancing with Alekyne, admiring their grace to the music. Instead of following Robb, who was now dancing with some other young lady, she was carefully watching Alekyne spin Margaery. He looked over at Roslin and she blushed, quickly looking away.

Sansa sighed and looked around. Her eyes fell on Tommen and Myrcella sitting at their table. None of the other lords and ladies were talking to them. They were sitting next to them and across from them, but were looking right past them. They were probably the lowest born lords and ladies, but they felt better than the two bastards. Even though the two bastards had been prince and princess only months ago. Tommen looked uncomfortable and aching to leave, and Myrcella looked like she was desperately trying to make conversation with him to distract him. She attempted to include her neighbour, but the woman pulled her arm away from Myrcella's light touch as she kept on talking to the man next to her.

Sansa got up and stole Robb from the new girl he was dancing with.

"Thank god," he whispered as she led him away. "She has terrible breath."

"Robb, I need you to dance with Myrcella."

"Excuse me?" he said, grabbing a goblet a wine and gulping it down like she had.

"Look at her. They're all shunning her. They feel better because _they're_ sers or ladies. I should've never invited Myrcella and Tommen. Now they're hurting."

"And how would dancing fix this?" Robb asked, looking already tired at the prospect of it.

"It would be a nice gesture. If the king asked the bastard to dance... They'll be jealous of the attention she seems to be worth that they are not. If you show you respect them, they will too. Now go ask her to dance and I will have a chat with Tommen, maybe try to drop him with Olyvar Frey, I think he'd be kind."

Robb sighed but did as he was told, and walked up to Myrcella. She looked surprised to see him, and even more surprised when his hand helped her get out of her seat and led her to the dancefloor. She smiled brightly, looking relieved and even a little bit proud. They danced next to Alekyne who was now dancing with Roslin, her long hair flowing as she laughed and blushed at something he said. Arianne was dancing with Harrold Hardyng, and for a moment the only thing Sansa felt was gratitude that she was not spinning in between them.

* * *

 _Robb's POV_

When Robb danced with Myrcella, he actually enjoyed it. He didn't know why, but he felt comfortable with her. He didn't have to force a superficial conversation, he could just look at her moving to the music. For the first time in a long time, he was dancing with someone because he wanted to, not because it was his duty.

Myrcella smiled while dancing with him, seemingly lost in the music and the movement.

"I'm sorry if they're treating you badly," Robb said, but immediately wished he hadn't. Her smile disappeared and a frown appeared in between her eyebrows. It was disrupting the harmony of her face and he was cursing himself for ruining the moment, wanting her to go back to her careless self.

"I... It's fine. It's only normal."

Robb tilted his head and laughed.

"What?" Myrcella asked, a curious grin appearing on her face.

"You're always so poised and diplomatic. It's like you never have an ill thought."

Myrcella blushed, and opened her mouth to protest, but Robb laughed.

"You're bloody perfect," he mumbled. "Too good for King's Landing, that's for sure."

Myrcella didn't say anything, she just looked at him while they kept on dancing. He could see in her eyes that she was thinking, but he didn't know what. It made him nervous. Finally, she said "King's Landing is my home though."

Robb smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, my lady. It's just so hard to believe that I keep on forgetting."

They kept on dancing in a comfortable silence. Robb observed her immaculate face as he heard her slightly murmur the melody. Her golden skin, green eyes, pink lips. She still looked like a princess, only her messier waves betrayed that she didn't have the five handmaidens to help her control her blonde locks anymore. If anything, it made her even more charming.

"How did you feel when you first called your banners?" she suddenly asked.

Robb was surprised at the turn of conversation. He looked at her looking up at him. The subject wasn't light enough to carry during a dance.

"Do you want some air, my lady?" Robb asked, and Myrcella nodded.

They went outside, into the gardens. They were empty as it was still early and the falling stars wouldn't appear for a while yet, so they found their way to a bench in between rose bushes.

"I was terrified," Robb said.

In the dark, he couldn't see her face as clearly as inside. But he could see her eyes shining, attentive.

"I was summoned by Joffrey to swear fealty to him. Sansa wrote the letter. After putting my father in chains, I had to come south to kiss his ass. I was furious, but terrified. So I asked maester Luwin to call the banners. Theon told me it was a good sign that my hand was shaking because it meant I wasn't stupid." Robb chuckled, but his chuckle soon turned into a grimace. Every thought of Theon led him to the image of Bran and Rickon, scared and burnt.

Myrcella put a hand on his arm at his flinch. "You have a loving family. My father-" She looked away. "Robert Baratheon. He used to avoid me. He avoided all of his children. Maybe the little time he had to spend with Joffrey disgusted him of us, I don't know." She chuckled joylessly. "One time, I walked through the halls as a little girl, and I saw him from far away, walking in the hall towards me, and I thought I could run to him and he'd maybe let me climb on his shoulders as the guards sometimes let me do. But as soon as he saw me, he turned a corner, disappearing. He did that all the time. He must've thought we didn't notice - or he just didn't think at all. He simply wasn't interested. So I told myself it was just because he was king, and kings can't be seen playing with little girls when they have kingdoms to rule. But when I came to Winterfell, I saw your father carrying Rickon on his shoulders. In King's Landing, he'd spend time with Sansa and Arya. Even the warden of the North, the Hand of the King has time for his children. Maybe that's when I made peace with it all. I accepted he'd never care."

Robb silently looked at her, lost in her thoughts. She looked back up at him, and smiled apologetically. "I forgot why I said that," she chuckled.

Robb smiled. Listening to her painful memories made him want to make things better for her. "How would Tommen like to squire for one of my men?" he blurted out.

Myrcella's face lit up and she stared at him, incredulously, her mouth slightly open.

"I could ask Loras. Patrek. Arys. Balon. Olyvar. They should find squires. I'll put it in motion."

"I'm sure other sons of noble houses would be thrilled to-"

"They will, and so will Tommen, if he wants to." Robb hadn't thought any of it through. But giving Tommen the position of the squire of a King's Guard could give him a future as a knight. It could earn him some respect in the harsh halls of the Red Keep. Respect Myrcella could benefit from.

Myrcella seemed to be calculating her response. "I'm not sure a highborn knight would appreciate teaching a bastard. You might offend some people," she said quietly, looking down.

"Would you prefer me to send him to the Wall? To my brother? He'll learn how to fight, that's certain, but I don't know if he'll appreciate the cold." Robb snickered at the thought of Tommen at the Wall.

Myrcella smiled. "Is your brother a skilled swordsman?"

"Better than me."

She laughed. "He must be incredible, then."

Robb leaned forward and reached for her hand. "There are many things I can say about Jaime Lannister but being a bad swordsman is not one of them. It's in Tommen's blood. It just has to be drawn out. No need to worry."

"Tommen's a soft boy," she whispered. She seemed scared for him. As if he was planning to send him to the battlefield. Or maybe she was just scared of the negative attention it would draw to them.

 _All boys are soft. Until they have to be men,_ he wanted to say. But he didn't. He wanted to keep her from worrying. "It's only wooden swords."

Myrcella forced a grateful smile. "Sometimes I don't understand you. You are far too kind, your grace."

"Robb," he blurted out. "I'm Robb to you."

Her eyes looked into his. She was going to shake her head, and probably politely refuse to address the king so disrespectfully, but Robb leaned towards her. The only thing on his mind was her.

"Robb..." she whispered, as a warning, her eyes large, but he cut her off with his lips.

For a few seconds, he was just grazing her soft lips, afraid to have ruined it all, but then Myrcella surrendered to him, closing her eyes and opening her lips. It was the happiest he'd been in a long time.


End file.
